The Vorpal Blade
by Molossus
Summary: An accidental spell transports a young Spike and a young Tara to Wonderland where they must overcome the First in order to get home. This takes place sometime in S6 after 'Life Serial' and before 'Tabula Rasa.
1. Default Chapter

Prologue

Tara blinked her eyes until they adjusted to the dim light in the Magic Box. Funny how the sun never penetrated to the interior, in spite of the large window. Probably because of all the magics and wards. Sunshine and magic weren't mixy things.

She headed toward the voices and laughter. Anya stood behind the counter and Buffy and Willow leaned over it from the other side. They were deep in conversation and Tara heard Spike's name uttered more than once. 

Tara smiled. They evidently didn't realize he was behind them, slouched against the door at the top of the storeroom stairs.

Anya thrust out her jaw and issued her challenge. "Come on, Buffy. You have to admit he's hot!" 

"I do not! Not hot ... he's not." Buffy seemed to flounder and Anya was quick to pounce.

"Admit it. He's all sexy with the hair, and the tongue and teeth thing and the accent." Anya swept her own tongue behind her teeth and gave a reasonable facsimile of a Spike leer.

"Exactly! With the hair and tongue and ... ewww ... not sexy at all." Buffy seemed more assertive now but Tara thought she blustered a lit-tle too much.

Willow saw her and broke away from the hen party. "Tara!" The wattage in Willow's smile lit up the room.

Tara melted into Willow's embrace but couldn't help noticing the open book on the counter and that Willow slid an invoice sheet over the page as she moved forward. Tara was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to have noticed. Was Willow researching a spell? Why was she trying to hide it from her?

Anya was quick to query Tara's position on the subject at hand. "So, you being the girl-on-girl type. I suppose you don't appreciate the hotness that is Spike?"

Tara looked away from the book. "Well, you don't have to be a horse to appreciate the stallion running in the field. Rippling muscle and flowing mane. Nature's artwork, so to speak." Tara stole a look at Spike. He seemed as gobsmacked as her friends were.

"Tara!" Willow's expression was a picture. Humor laced with horror. Buffy's was just horrified.

Anya patted Tara's other hand. "Good for you. Might as well enjoy the scenery even if you don't intend to ride." Anya turned back to Buffy. "Ok. You don't want to admit to the good looks but he is fun to flirt with. Don't look at me like that. I've seen you flirt with him!"

"Have not! What he does isn't flirting. It's disgusting. Annoying." 

Willow chimed in, "He does get a little mean sometimes. He gets all sympathetic and understanding, and then all of sudden you've admitted to hiding Xander's pants in your desk in second grade, and he makes you feel all guilty about it and stuff." Willow held onto Tara's hand but, lost in her speech, was no longer paying attention to her. 

Tara didn't look down but moved the invoice sheet so she could see the spell Willow was researching. My Will Be Done. Wasn't that the spell that had caused so much trouble last year? The one that caused demons to attack Xander and made Spike and Buffy get engaged? Hadn't Willow learned her lesson? Spells like this were dangerous. Tara read to herself. 'Harken all ye elements ...'

"Pffft." Anya flipped her hands. "He just tells you the truth."

"No, you tell the truth. At least what you think is the truth. He makes you see the truth yourself but not in a nice way!" Willow shook her head.

Buffy spoke. "He twists the truth so he can use you."

Tara heard the grim note in her voice. She thought about interruptingSpike was listeningbut Anya jumped in and Tara went back to the spell. She let the conversation thread in and out of her attention.

"Oh, well, Miss Perfect. Just what would it take to make Spike acceptable, then?"

"Oh, let's see. No smoking, no drinking, no swearing, no sneering." Buffy seemed to warm to the theme. "No posing, no innuendoes ..."

"No accent," Anya piped in.

"No! Keep the accent!" Buffy and Willow chorused together.

"Yeah. The accent's okay." Buffy thought for a moment. "Where was I?"

Anya wrapped one hand around Buffy's wrist and one around Willow's and shook them to emphasize her point. "I'll tell you where you were. You were describing a Spike that was about eight years old!"

Tara startled at Willow's guffaw.

"An eight year old Spike! He'd be darling!" Willow made a sound that couldn't decide if it was a giggle or a snort.

Buffy screeched "Eccch! That'd be ... he'd be ... " Buffy couldn't seem to find words to describe a child Spike and she slapped Willow lightly on the shoulder.

Tara finished reading the spell 'So mote it be ... ' and felt a jolt. A connection seemed to form, starting with her hand, the hand that Willow held and humming through Buffy's hand, the hand that rested on Willow's shoulder, then sliding down to Anya's hands, the hands that held Buffy's and Willow's. Magic!

Panic seized Tara by the throat and she couldn't speak. Couldn't warn Willow to stop and Willow spoke ...

"I can just see an eight year old Spike! 

And Anya said, "He'd be like an Alex in Wonderland!"

And Buffy said, "Oh right. The perfect Spike."

The connection broke and Tara waited, her breath held deep within her lungs. 

Willow and Anya burst into mad giggles and even Buffy snickered. 

Tara sighed in relief. Nothing had happened. She moved the invoice sheet so it covered the spell again and moved away from the counter. She was as bad as Willow. Careless to even be reading a spell like that. She saw Spike move into the room and come up behind Buffy. His lips were pursed and she thought he was probably annoyed by the discussion of boy Spike.

He put his hand on Buffy's shoulder and Buffy reacted. Overreacted. She swung around as though under attack and punchedhard. Spike spun sideways and Tara tried to move out of his way but stumbled instead and their heads collided.

Tara saw stars and she fell ...

And fell ...

And fell ...

TBC ... 


	2. The Vorpal Blade 1

Chapter One

The spell!

She was a feather, floating softly, drifting down, down, down in lazy, random spirals. Even her occasional cartwheels seemed stately and performed with grace. How strange! She didn't feel dizzy at all. Her stomach didn't seem to know she was free falling.

She fell. She was in a tunnel and she was falling.

This had to be the spell. Willow! What were you doing messing around with magic like that?

Ping A tiny bell tone rippled across her mind and she looped the loop, full circle. Was the magic still working? Had ...

The thought seemed to elude her and she tried to remember what it was. Who was messing with magic? Willow? Wasn't that a tree?

Somehow she felt lighter but fell more slowly.

She supposed it was time to pay attention to her surroundings and she looked about. She was in a tunnel and shelves lined the walls and the walls were lined with clocks. Hundreds and thousands of clocks. Big clocks and little clocks. Grandfather clocks and Mickey Mouse clocks. Clocks with second hands and no hands and hands shaped like hands. Some hands pointed to the hour and some vibrated with alarm. Some hands ... some just waved at her. Some pointed to noon and some to midnight. Tara wasn't sure how she knew the difference but she did.

She giggled.

Hours were passing by! Or was she passing by for hours? She had been floating so long it seemed her natural state. She wondered if perhaps she had stopped falling and it was the tunnel that moved. This had to be magic.

The clocks disappeared and the shelves now held laboratory equipment. Test tubes and beakers and piping and boxes with switches and lights. Perhaps instead of magic she had been in lab class and a science experiment had gone wrong. Science in Sunnydale could take strange turns.

Tara heard a ping. Sunnydale? Lab class? That was silly. Her father would never let her take science. He'd never let her leave home. Too dangerous for a demon girl.

Somehow she felt lighter but fell more slowly.

She thought perhaps she had slept. This trip was taking so long and it was so boring. She was sure she had slept and dreamt a little song. Ping, ping, ping. The tune played in her head even now. She felt so light. As soon as she landed she was going to get herself a heavy meal. A shadow slid over her and she looked up ... down? ... and saw that someone else was floating. Half a yard and a universe away she thought. She should have noticed before. Spike? Was that Spike?

A ping echoed in her head and she thought perhaps she was getting closer to the sound of the music. She looped and her pinafore flew over her head and she was embarrassed. She hoped the boy couldn't see her panties.

Pinafore?

PING

She woke and didn't have the slightest idea where she was.

A moment passed and she realized she didn't have the slightest idea who she was.

She was lying in a field of dying flowers; all choked by weeds. She heard the flowers gasping and sat up in alarm. Grasping the weeds that were closest she tried to loosen their stranglehold but they wrapped around her hands and pulled back. She struggled, frightened by their strength. What if they pulled her right into the ground? She managed to untangle herself but hadn't uprooted a single weed. There was nothing she could do. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Poor flowers!

"Are you all right, Luv?"

She rolled around and onto her knees. The most beautiful boy she had ever seen sat a few feet away. At least, she thought he must be the most beautiful boy, she couldn't remember ever seeing another. She was sure that most boys were loud and uncouth and ugly, though. Not like this one. His eyes were the same color as the sky and the golden curls around his head were brighter than the blossoms in the field. Especially since those were dying. He tilted his head as she stared at him and he smiled. Her stomach lurched and she felt a blush spreading onto her face and over her ears. She was certain she looked like a tomato.

The boy looked to be about the same age as she was. She thought her age was about the same as his. Oh, this was too terrible. She couldn't remember anything. She stood up and brushed at the mud on her skirts, letting her hair fall into her face. She peered at him through the tangled strands and was struck by a horrible notion. What if he was her brother? She hoped he wasn't. He was prettier than she was. She knew he was and no girl should have a brother that was prettier than herself.

He jumped to his feet and the sun sparkled on his hair, turned it into a crown. Her breath caught as he walked toward her. Perhaps he was a prince. That might explain why he was more beautiful than other boys. His clothes were certainly fashionable. Tight fitting knee breeches, and waistcoat of blue. A sailor suit. Tara remembered that such outfits were called sailor suits. She was sure she had seen pictures of young princes dressed just like that. If he wasn't a prince he was at least high born or well bred.

"Bugger all. You got any idea where we are?"

The strangest thought went through her head. He isn't supposed to swear. Guess the spell didn't change everything.

He reached his hand toward her and gently pushed a lock of her hair to the side. He looked into her eyes, stared intently, and they were so blue she lost the strange thought and all thought and forgot to breathe. She dipped her head further, frantic, slid her eyes away to stare at the horizon.

"Luv. You with me here?" He was speaking very gently now like he was afraid she would bolt and she thought he might be right. "What's your name?"

She didn't know what to say so she said the first thing that came to mind. "T-T-Tara." She froze.

Yes, that felt right. Her name was Tara. Emboldened, she lifted her eyes to his but they skittered back to the horizon when he smiled at her. She made the effort to speak but her tongue seemed to lose all flexibility and she could only stutter. "Wha-wha-wha..." She was certain she sounded like a steam engine.

"Slow down, pet. We've got nowhere to go, seein' as how we don't know where we are. Take your time and say your piece when you're ready. In fact, let's just have a sit down and think for a bit." His voice made her think of a crystal bell.

Tara didn't sit. Rather her legs melted as the boy grasped her elbow with one hand and slid his other arm around her waist and guided her until she sat safely on the ground. She felt like an invalid. She felt so stupid. He must be wishing he was lost with anybody but her. She pulled up her knees to her head, wrapped her arms around them and hid her face. Tears bubbled into her eyes. The boy patted her back and when he spoke she marveled at the gentleness in his voice. Gentle wasn't something she associated with male voices.

"S'all right, Luv. Really it is. Anybody'd be upset. Don't know where we are but it isn't Kansas. That much I know. Sure your name isn't Dorothy?"

She peeked at him from the safety of her little knee tower and was amazed to see him smiling. He really wasn't upset! She knew that someone ... some others always got upset when she stuttered or became shy. He looked away as though he could sense that his gaze made her nervous. Tara thought that was wonderful. Her tears dried and after a little while she looked up. She chewed her lips and concentrated very hard. "Wh-what's your name?"

His smile was very bright. She could see one eyetooth was bit crooked, a little longer than the others and thought it made him even more beautiful.

"Good question. Wish I could answer."

"You don't even know your name?" Tara started to duck her head again but stopped herself. "What feels right? I didn't remember my name. I felt it."

"Yeah? Let me try." He crossed his eyes at her and she giggled. "Guess I don't feel very well 'cause I'm not getting any names. There a trick to it?"

Tara could only shake her head. She couldn't explain. She had just done it.

"Maybe if you sound off a few names. Maybe I'll get a tickle."

She could do this. "Andrew."

The boy shook his head.

"Alvin?"

He shook his head.

"Alex?" She stopped when his expression changed. He seemed to consider then shook his head. "Nope. Seems familiar but it isn't right. Maybe a brother or something."

Tara frowned. She didn't want to think about brothers. She continued naming names. "James ... Riley ... Sam." She listed all the boy's names she could think of, one by one.

"... William."

They looked at each other. Tara touched his hand and wondered at her own daring. "I think that's the one. William feels right. To me, anyway."

"Me, too. Feels right to me." He studied her for a moment. "Except it doesn't. Can't say why. I think it's my name but nobody calls me that. Make sense?"

"Maybe you have a nickname." Tara offered the explanation and waited for his scorn.

"Bloody brilliant! You're a right genius, Luv. Spike! See, I just needed a shove in the right direction. I'm Spike."

Tara thought she liked the sound of William better, until she saw the look of admiration Spike was giving her. Her heart swelled and a smile burst onto her face. Spike was absolutely the most wonderful name in all the world because it belonged to the most wonderful boy in all the world. She was smiling at him and he was smiling at her and suddenly he wasn't.

Spike's eyes widened until Tara could see the whites all around them and he stared behind her, mesmerized. She could hear a strange whiffling sound and the sound of something whipping through the weeds and strangled flowers. She didn't want to look but a compulsion took hold of her and she turned.

Words popped into her mind like the first kernels of popcorn bursting open in a pan. Predator. Dinosaur. Raptor. She immediately knew they were the wrong words.

The two powerful legs and three-toed feet seemed to fit, as did the long, bobbing tail, but the neck... it coiled around itself like a snake, slithering back and forth. The blunt teeth were huge slabs, protruding from tentacled jaws that snapped and bit. Long, sinewy arms ended in feathery-tipped fingers that clawed and snatched at the air.

No dinosaur ever wore a waistcoat, though, and Tara was sure that no raptor ever had wings. Another word popped.

"Jabberwock."


	3. The Vorpal Blade 2

Title: The Vorpal Blade

Chapter Two

"Run!"

Spike latched onto Tara's hand and pulled. She spun around and stumbled and her feet couldn't seem to find their place. One of her shoes slid off her foot but Spike didn't stop. He tightened his grip, and hauled her behind him and her feet began flailing through the air. She managed to touch them to the ground ... one step, two step ... and he gave a great yank and her feet went flying again. She felt like a bundle of tin cans tied to a string, buffeted by the wind and bouncing all around. 

This is ridiculous. He can't do the running for both of us! 

Legs. Legs were meant to be pointed down and upright when one was traveling, not flapping to one side one minute, and then flipping up two feet higher than her head the next. She twisted at the waist and forced her feet down. Touched the groundthere! She was running.

She was flat on the ground, chewing dirt. 

Spike was getting up and coming back to her. Tara realized the force of their separation must have knocked him down as well. She felt the ground shaking beneath her. The Jabberwock! He was making the earth reverberate with the shock of each pounding step he took.

Fear electrified her limbs into spasmodic motion and she lurched to her feet.

Oh, there was her shoe. 

Tara's stomach heaved. They hadn't moved. There was her shoe, right were she had lost it! They had run and run and they hadn't moved at all.

She turned and gawped at the Jabberwock. They hadn't moved but it had! 

"Come on!" Spike grabbed her arm.

"We haven't gone anywhere!" Tara couldn't look away from the Jabberwock. His head ... weaving back and forth ...

"I know. We have to run faster ... Tara! Don't look at it. Run!"

Tara tried. She tried moving her feet as fast as she could. Pumping her legs and pounding the ground. Long strides, short strides. No matter how fast she ran she stayed where she was. Her shoe sat motionless and she was running but both stayed where they were.

Spike bounded ahead and Tara's heart seemed to stop beating. Oh go. Get away!

Instead he turned around. He was coming back for her! She would have laughed but her teeth were chattering so hard.

He threw his arm around her waist and swung her off her feet. "Don't try to run, Luv. Just hold onto me!" 

She locked her arms around him, clasped her hands together, and held on as tightly as she could. He ran and she flapped behind him like a banner. He ran faster and she was buffeted by the wind. He ran faster still and the wind became a living thing. It jerked at her hair and puffed in her eyes and roared in her ears. It tore at her arms, pried at her fingers but she just held tighter and hoped Spike could breathe.

Her vision was blurred but she could see the scenery changing around her. A tall tree took the place of the stump and a bush replaced the tree. A rabbit darted away and she saw a stone and they were running up a hill. They were moving!

Were they moving fast enough? The whiffling sound grew louder or was that only the wind? The earth was shaking or was she only trembling? She felt hot breath on her back or was that only the sun? 

Spike ran and Tara held on. They went over the hill and down the hill and started up another. They ran through streams and onto rocky ground and entered a forest. The sun fell from the sky and the moon bounced up and still she held on. She felt as though she had held on forever.

She bounced, her feet dragging on the ground and she yelped. That hurt!

Spike slowed and she wasn't flying through the air anymore. She scrambled to regain her footing, yelping again as her shoeless foot scraped across loose stone and brambles and rock.

He slowed, then staggered, and suddenly Tara was supporting him. 

They stopped and she twisted her head in frantic jerks, scanning the countryside. Where was the Jabberwock? Had they outrun it? Was it close behind? She listened for the sound of whiffling or pounding feet but her heart seemed wedged between her ears. The thunder of its beat drowned out all sound. She feared her head was going to burst from the throbbing of the blood that pulsed through her veins.

Spike sank to his knees, breathing in gulps of air, and Tara turned her attention to him. He was wind-kissed. The wind had kissed his lips until they were ruby red and peppered his eyes until the soft skin around them was bruised with blue. It had kissed his curls into a dandelion crown that whispered around his head. The moon joined in the devotion and danced on his golden locks and turned his pale skin into silver.

The Jabberwock was forgotten as she gazed at him. She was convinced in that moment that he must be fey, a prince of the fair folk, a magical being. How else could he be so obviously a boy and yet so beautiful, look so delicate and be so strong. How could he have run so fast and so far and still have a hand that felt so cool in her own? 

She was flushed and sweaty and her hair stuck to her skin or stuck out in disarray. She was certain she looked like a wild monkey. 

Her shyness returned. She wanted to ask how he was but he'd saved her life and was magical and why would he want to listen to anything a plain, frumpy girl like herself had to say?

"Are you all right, pet? You look a bit frazzled."

Tara bet she did. She burst into tears. She was lost and didn't know who she was and he was beautiful and she was so ugly!

"Here now!" Spike's voice had taken on an alarm that hadn't been apparent when he'd been faced with the Jabberwock. "Don't cry. I'll protect you if it shows up. Really, I will. I wasn't afraid. I wasn't. I-I just didn't have a weapon. And look ..." he jumped to his feet and ran a few feet away to pick something off the ground. "Here's a stick. It's stout. I could whack him with it or-or jab it in his mouth when he tries to bite." 

Spike knelt beside her where she'd flopped down on the ground and he picked up her shoeless foot. "I'm sorry. Should have grabbed your shoe. Wasn't thinking."

"N-no. You were so brave!" Tara's shyness was forgotten and she wiped at her tears. He was worried about what she thought! "You came back for me. I've never seen anything so heroic in my life!"

"Really?" Spike's smile was shy but he straightened his shoulders and threw out his chest. He stood back up and hefted the stick, made a few practice jabs. "Well, I'll be ready for him next time. He won't get away without a bruise or two. If I had a sword, I'd gut him right quick."

"Oh, I think running is probably the best thing." Spike's face fell and Tara hastened to continue. "I mean, if you had a sword, sure, you could whack off its head." Tara demonstrated the proper procedure by clasping her hands together and swinging them in an arc. "It's just ... it was so big and, the wings would give it an awful advantage."

Spike appeared to consider this. "Maybe. I could duck under real fast-like and jab his belly a few good ones." He dropped to one knee and stabbed the stick into the air. "Make him fetch up his lunch, I would." He glanced at Tara from the corner of his eyes.

His dandelion coiffure looked a bit silly bobbing about as he mimed fighting the absent Jabberwock but she didn't care. Her own hair probably looked like a rat's nest. She wished she had a comb but she wasn't sure she could use it even if she had. Now that she was sitting still for a moment she was aware that she ached. Her arms felt like sausages and sharp pains radiated from her shoulders at the slightest move. Her foot throbbed and her scalp fit like a cap that was three sizes too small. 

She was very, very tired.

A touch on her shoulder made her jump. She must have been half asleep and hadn't seen Spike approach. He looked at her, his expression grave.

"You look done up. We need to find a safer place. Somewhere I can build a fire. No telling what's in these woods. Can you walk?"

"Of course." But she couldn't really. Her legs were jelly. 

"This won't do, lamb." Spike gave her a hug and swept her into her arms. Tara was too tired to protest. She should have been carrying him. He'd done all the work. She couldn't bring herself to care. She rested her head against his chest and thought how quiet and snug it was being cradled in his arms. He was so strong.

The merry snap of the fire woke her up or it might have been the scent of the roasting meat. Spike was poking a stick at something in the flames. He lifted it out and it fell and he caught in his hands, cursing as shifted it onto a flat rock. He sucked at his burnt fingers and muttered under his breath. He saw that Tara was awake.

"Sorry. Did I wake you, Luv?"

"Uh-uh. Something smells good."

"There's a rabbit hole nearby. Managed to catch one." Spike pushed his tongue against his teeth and tilted his head.

"You killed a rabbit?" Tara sat up, horrified.

Spike blinked. "Well ... yeah. Thought you'd want something to eat."

"You killed it and skinned it and ... poor rabbit."

"Yeah, I did and a lot of work it was, too! Fast little buggers." His lower lip protruded and Tara realized she had hurt his feelings. 

Still, a rabbit! 

Her stomach rumbled. The meat did smell good and she was hungry. Spike had done all the hard stuff too. A lot of boys might have caught the rabbit but she didn't think many would have cleaned it and cooked it. Not when there was a girl at hand. 

"I'm sorry. I ..." He was so wonderful and she was just stupid. She didn't know why he didn't take off and leave her.

"S'all right."

His voice was curt and Tara thought it probably wasn't all right. "I was being silly. Of course we have to eat and we're lost in the woods and you can hardly go picking berries at night and I'm really very hungry and I'm sorry and ... and please don't be mad at me!"

"I'm not." He smiled and she sighed with relief.

He turned back to the rabbit. "You want a bite then? Leg, maybe?"

"I don't think so!" The sound of a strange voice made them jump and they turned to stare at the ring of soldiers that surrounded them. "Are you aware of the penalty for hunting the King's rabbit?"

TBC... 


	4. The Vorpal Blade 3

Chapter Three

They were playing cards! The soldiers surrounding them had bodies, thin-sliced card-shaped brightly painted bodies covered in diamonds and spades and clubs and hearts. She remembered playing games with cards like that--except they were much smaller, of course, and didn't have heads and arms and legs.

Tara stood befuddled and made no protest when Spike pushed her back against a tree. This world was so strange! She remembered little about home but she knew it didn't have people who looked like they were made of cardboard. Jabberwocks and cardboard men. She made a sound. She was uncertain whether it was a sob or a laugh.

Spike was standing straight, his legs spread and muscles tensed. He was her shield. She could sense he was trying to keep every bit of her out of sight and away from harm. She wanted to move closer, hold onto him but she knew better. H e would need to be free so he could fight. Or they could run. She hoped they were going to run.

One of the soldiers spoke, and she knew better, she knew, but couldn't keep from moving to the side, poking her head around and peeping about like a newborn chick. She had to see.

"Make no protest, thief and come along smartly. You'll fare far better if you do!"

She thought the speaker must be the Captain because he had two faces instead of numbers. Not that he was two-faced. Tara made herself take a deep breath. She was thinking silly things and they were in trouble. There was no time for girlish fancies. She took more deep breaths and looked at the other soldiers while Spike argued.

"We're no thieves. Caught this rabbit fair and square. Didn't steal it from no one."

"All rabbits belong to King Snyder and all who hunt them will be punished." The Captain pointed to One of Hearts. "Sound your trumpet! Poachers have been apprehended!"

One of Hearts looked at his hands and saw no trumpet for the very good reason that he didn't have one. His forehead crumpled in thought and after consideration, he curled his hand and brought it to the front of his mouth, and tootled. " Toot, toot, tootle, t-oo-o-o-t!"

"Well, I didn't know about the King owning all the rabbits or I wouldn't have killed one." Spike ran his tongue along his teeth. "Sorry. I won't do it again."

Tara didn't think he looked sorry. She thought he looked positively fearsome, a scowl twisted his mouth and his blue eyes were narrowed. He looked as though he wanted to fight and she found that the most frightening thing of all. There were so many soldiers and cardboard or not, they had spears! She struggled against the renewed need to hold onto Spike. She'd only be in the way. She had to remember that. What to do with her hands? She clasped them and tucked them tightly against her chin, biting into her knuckles.

The Captain clapped his hands together. " King Snyder has decreed that Ignorance is against the law! One of Hearts, mark that down. The poachers admit to Ignorance."

Tara stared at One of Hearts. Bits of his body had been torn away and new bits had been tacked on with tape and dried glue. His heart had been ripped in half and whoever had put it together again hadn't done a very good job, for one side was lower than the other. Pieces of him overlapped and others had gaps in between. She felt a little sorry for him.

It was Six of Clubs that made her stomach churn and made her turn her face away altogether. His body was whole but he had a boar's head, snouted and covered in dark, wiry fur. Tusks sprouted from his upper lip. One of his arms was made from armor and ended in what Tara recognized as the head from a Spike Hammer. She might have thought that was funny if she weren't so frightened.

One of Hearts made a whining sound and held up his hands to show that they were empty. The Captain glared.

"I don't have anything to write with!" One of Hearts jiggled and Tara wondered if cardboard soldiers ever needed to pee.

"Lack of tools, learning or ability is no excuse. Do your job!"

After a moment, One of Hearts knelt and smoothed the ground in front of him. Using his forefinger, One drew letters ... T-H-E--P-O-C-H-U-R-S ... in the dust. The ground was hard and dry and he left little mark, but the Captain seemed to be satisfied. Not waiting to see if the job was completed, he whirled toward the other soldiers and bellowed.

"Take them!"

Spike put his fists up and crouched into a fighting stance. His eyes were crackling with gleeful energy and he flicked his tongue along his teeth. Tara was indignant. He was enjoying this! Her anger didn't last long. She was too frightened. She didn't want him to fight but how could she stop him?

"Psst!"

Tara jumped. Huh? Who was that?

"Pssst! Up here."

Tara craned her neck and looked up into the tree, and looked but could see only shadows. She must be hearing things. Spike's life was in danger and she was hearing things. Could she be any more worthless?

"Hey, girl. Your boy's got some stones on him, but you better rein him in. These soldiers ain't playin' with a full deck--if you get my meaning."

Tara wasn't sure she did but was too shy to say so. She couldn't even get up the nerve to speak to a hallucination. How was she supposed to tell Spike not to fight? Why would he listen to her?

"Tell him you're frightened. He'll behave if he thinks his girl might get hurt."

She wondered if the voice person could read her mind and then she blinked. His girl? The voice thing thought she was Spike's girl? She flushed with pleasure in spite of the fear that curdled her stomach. She shook her head. She was certain that Spike didn't think that way at all. He probably thought she was clumsy and ugly and a nuisance. She didn't know why he was protecting her.

Watching him dance about, making rude gestures, his eyes shining with exhilaration, she thought he might have forgotten all about her and that didn't surprise her. He wasn't a coward like she was, wanting to run away or just obey the soldiers.

Spike motioned with his hands, inviting the soldiers to advance and taunted, "Come on, you miserable little snot rags! Quit hiding behind those letter openers and I'll show how you how a man fights!"

Tara thought he looked so brave, so handsome. She wanted to smack him across the back of his head and then was appalled that she could think of such a thing.

The Captain stamped his foot. "You're no man. You're simply a boy and as such, you are in violation of the King's ordinance requiring all children to be locked in their rooms! One of Hearts! Take note of that. The boy is in violation!"

"I'm still working on the last one!" One of Hearts protested. "How do you spell ignorance?"

The Captain paid no attention and continued his tirade. "Surrender, immediately or we'll carry you to Court on our spears!"

"You and what other roll of toilet paper!" Spike spat out the words and Tara thought she might faint. She thought the wispy, whispery sound was an effect of being light-headed then she realized the voice was speaking again. This time when she looked up she made out a shadowy form. A cat? Was a talking cat more disturbing than a disembodied voice? Wasn't she a sophisticated Miss to ask such questions? As her eyes became more accustomed she noticed more detail. Chocolate eyes, chocolate coat, a white, shiny, sharp grin.

She didn't think cats were supposed to have grins.

"Ask-him-to-stop! Things are getting dicey here, girl. Speak to him!" The cat's voice grew louder and Tara wondered that no one else seemed to react. Maybe she was hallucinating. Shaking her head and putting the thought aside, she concentrated. What could she say? Spike was so courageous. He might have had enough sense to run from the Jabberwock but he wasn't going to let a bunch of cardboard cutouts tell him what to do.

They had spears! Sharp spears. S harp and shiny like the cat's teeth. She looked up and the cat was gone. S he thought she saw a flash of white but decided it must be moonlight flashing through the branches. No one to help her. She took a deep breath.

"Spike ..."

Six of Clubs snorted, his hot breath visible in the cold air and red eyes flashing, he jumped toward Spike, angling his thin body so it sliced through the air, sharp as a blade.

Too late. She was too late.

Spike twisted aside but the corner of the card-thin body skimmed along his throat, just at the junction between his shoulder and his neck, and the skin split. Tara thought the bright drops of blood looked like rubies.

She thought her eyes must be moving at a different speed from her brain, while Spike and the soldier were moving at another speed altogether. The world was moving in stop-gap motion and she couldn't process the gaps.

Her brain whirled, and Spike was turned, face on to the charging soldier, whose massive skull was a battering ram, and his feet thundered against the ground and Tara wondered how a cardboard soldier could make such noise...

And Tara blinked and Spike was on the ground, on his back, his opponent over him. He held a tusk in each hand, his arms straining outward. He pushed against the boar's head and his arms shook, testimony to the strength of his adversary. Six of Clubs might look like he was made of cardboard but ...

Tara blinked.

Moonlight fell on Spike's knuckles and there was blood. Rubies on silver. Wouldn't that make his hand slippery? Wouldn't that make it harder to keep pushing the head away? Spike was going to be crushed. His hand would slip and he would be crushed. The fight changed in tempo, the gaps coming faster and Tara watched without absorbing.

Spike curled his knees into his body, then he kicked out with his feet...

Six of Clubs was on his back and Spike was rolling...

.. he was kneeling on the soldier. He shifted, renewed his grip on the tusks and twisted.

Tara felt everything pop into place. Her brain caught up with her eyes and her eyes focused. She turned away and listened to the ripping sound of the boar's head being torn from his body.

She didn't look away for long. A whistling sound in the air made her spin in fearful anticipation.

A spear whizzed through the air and Spike rolled away. A second spear followed hard on the first and this time the blade glanced along his arm tearing the fabric of his shirt. When the third spear wafted toward him, instead of dodging, Spike leapt up to meet it, ghosting into the moonlight. He snatched the weapon from the air, caught it between his hands and flipped it, pointed end out. He hefted it into position and grinned savagely. "Who's going down first, ladies?"

There was very little about him that resembled an eight-year old boy at that moment.

She had to do something. She had waited too long to ask him to stop. Spike couldn't dodge all the spears forever. She had to do something. She ran to Spike, and pulled at his spear arm with all her might. She dragged it down and wrapped her arms around him as she had been longing to do. She hugged him tight, buried her face into his chest. Maybe the spears wouldn't pierce her all the way through. Maybe she could keep him safe.

"Tara!" Spike was aghast--as were the soldiers. Murmuring with surprise, they put their spears at rest and moved a step back.

She heard the cat murmuring, "You go, girl!"

She paid no attention, lost in shock at her own action. Tears welled in her eyes. Spike was going to hate her forever. "I'm sorry! Y-You can't fight all of them. You'll be killed. Please, please just go along with them." Tara could barely see now, for all the tears that poured from her eyes and she was glad. She didn't want to see the look of disgust on his face.

She realized that Spike had thrown the spear down. He shrugged his arms from out of her grasp and took her chin in his hand. He lifted her head up to meet his eyes. She didn't want to face him but she deserved whatever he had to say.

He ran his other hand along the side of her face. His head tilted and his lips curled into the shyest smile. Tara felt she had her boy back--Spike was back.

"You were worried about me? Me?"

Tara could only nod.

"Hrrrumpph!" The Captain stamped his foot for attention. "Your Lady has the right of it. You can't fight us all!"

Spike took Tara by the hand but stood with his head down. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and his voice was shy. "My Lady. I like the sound of that."

Tara liked it too.

Soldiers surrounded Spike and his hands were pulled back and tied. For a moment, she thought he would resist but he looked up at her and even though his shoulders fell, he stood still. They put a collar around his neck and looped it to his bound hands and Tara thought her heart would break. What had she done? What had she been thinking? Who knew what would happen now. Spike never looked away from her, even when they put the chains around his feet.

"Bring around the cart, and let the lady ride." The Captain's voice broke into her thoughts and she turned to him in horror. They were going to separate them!

"No. Please. I want to stay with Spike."

"He'll be moving slow, marching with chains on his feet. We can have you to the castle, and fed and in a warm bed long before he arrives. No worries, girl. You won't be held responsible for his crimes. And they can always use a new servant up to the castle."

"I want to be held responsible for his crimes. I mean, he hasn't committed any crimes. I want to stay with him."

"No crimes? Hunting the King's rabbit, resisting arrest, not staying in his room! King Snyder may well have his head. If he's lucky. He killed one of Queen Walsh's soldiers. Best hope she doesn't want his head."

Tara didn't understand what he was talking about but she knew it was terrible. She had done a terrible thing. Maybe Spike could have fought all the soldiers. She hadn't trusted him to be strong enough or fast enough and now...

"I don't care. I want to stay with him."

"Tara. Don't be silly. Nothing to be served, you staying with me. You go on ahead and I'll find you once I get everything straightened out." Spike's voice was gentle and resigned. He smiled at her. How could he smile at her?

"No. I won't leave you." Tara dodged the soldier closest to Spike and latched onto his arm, tightened hers around it. "I won't leave him. Just accept it." She held her breath at her own daring.

The Captain shook his head. "Very well, young lady. You do yourself no good hanging with a scoundrel like that but I have no more time to waste. Nines, hearts and diamonds, Sevens, clubs and spades! Gather up the bodily remains--Queen Walsh will want them."

She hugged Spike's arm close and adjusted her steps. His strides were severely limited in span and Tara knew if she hadn't been there he would have fallen more than once as the links caught on stone and brush. She kept her head down, afraid to look at him.

"Tara."

She swallowed and forced herself to look him in the face and she felt tears in her eyes. He looked so sad!

"Want to say I'm sorry. I've bollixed up--got us into a right fix."

Tara's jaw dropped and she couldn't speak. He was sorry? He dropped his head and looked down, stopped walking and when he spoke she could barely hear the words.

"I was showing off. Meant to protect you, I did, but got all caught up having fun. Wasn't thinking. Should have made a plan. Done something." He started walking again as one of the guards pushed at him.

"No, it was me. It was my fault. I should have said. I didn't think you would listen to me but I should have tried." The tears spilled over onto her cheeks, her nose was running. She was certain she looked like a snot-faced baby.

"Why wouldn't I listen to you? You're a bright little thing. I could see that right off. You see things, feel things. I'd be a fool not to listen." Spike stopped again. "Oh. It's me. You meant I don't listen. I don't always." He twisted his lips and Tara thought he trying to smile.

"That wasn't what I meant. I ..."

Tara was cut off as a soldier shoved at Spike. "Enough of yer yappin'. We're late, very late and the later we are the worse it will go. Save yer breath for travelin' or you will be separated."

They looked at each other and leaned closer together and started moving.

Tara found herself leaning on Spike again. Her short nap hadn't given her nearly enough rest and so much had happened. She wished she could go home. She wished she knew where there that was. She stumbled and would have fallen if Spike hadn't leaned over to block her fall.

"Wrap your arm around my waist, love. Give us better balance, I think."

She did as he suggested and leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt his head come to rest against hers. Suddenly, tired as she was and as frightened as she was, Tara felt she was home.

TBC...


	5. The Vorpal Blade 4

_SQUEEE The Vorpal Blade has been nominated for Best Spike w/Others at The Lost In Spike Awards. _

**Chapter 4  
**

"Tara, Luv. Think we're almost there." Spike's voice was cracked, his words almost undecipherable.

It didn't matter. She heard him but without understanding. Exhaustion left her in a state close to unconsciousness. Her mind had been aware of what was happening around her, the tramp of soldiers' feet, a light drizzle of rain, the moon falling and the sun rising. She had felt no reaction to any of it, her mind too tired to process what it absorbed.

The smell of wood fire and cooking food tickled her nose and the pain in her stomach roused her, hunger and stress forming a porcupine ball in her gut. Her surroundings solidified as her waking state replaced the dream world she had inhabited. People, real people, surrounded her. She heard the clop of feet on cobblestone, realized she was passing merchants' stands and buildings and carefully tended gardens. The hum in her ears separated into distinct sounds, human speech, animal cries, insects buzzing, mud splashing, metal on metal. She was conscious of the warmth where the sun played upon her face in contrast to the chill of the morning. Voices looped in and out as she trudged along.

_"...and I saw the white army moving across..."_

_"Buy a pie! Fresh and hot! Give me your penny, get the best I've got!"  
_

_"Have you heard the latest rumors? The red..."  
_

Hope sparked and she looked around eagerly. The momentary energy faded at once. She and Spike were still prisoners of the playing card soldiers. The cardboard men were surreal in the light of day, in sharp contrast to the normal people and the village around them. Strange they might be, but none of the villagers spared them a glance, finding Spike and Tara to be far more interesting. Men, women and children followed at a distance, careful not to hinder the procession but watching the prisoners, whispering and pointing and laughing. Tara averted her eyes, too shy and ashamed to look anyone in the eye. She felt like a monkey on display for the amusement of the crowd.

She scrubbed at her eyes. They were gritty from dust and the dryness that comes from crying all the moisture away and her efforts only made them worse. She looked up at Spike's face. He was tight-lipped and grim. His pale, white skin was patchy with grey and his eyes were sunken. His once bright hair had become wet in the rain then matted down with dust. He looked ill.

Tara realized one of her feet was sitting on top of Spike's while her shoeless foot dangled off the ground. He was throwing his hip out and bending sideways at the waist, and she was draped against him. He carried all her weight, moving with an awkward crab-like step. She hampered him more than the chains did.

Her struggle to pull away without tripping caught his attention and his lips moved. Tara thought he was trying to smile. Her eyes were too dry. She had no tears left or she would have cried when she saw that his lips cracked and bled at the attempt.

She shifted so she was standing on her own two feet and had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. She couldn't let Spike know how much it hurt. She was through being a burden. She steeled herself to walk steadily, not betraying the pain that radiated from the lacerations and bruises. From this moment on, she was going to carry her own weight.

Why was Spike's skin so dry?

She felt ill herself, tired, hungry, and foot-sore. She ran her tongue along her lips. They were chapped a bit but not bleeding. She felt her face and found tiny cuts and scrapes but nothing as raw and flaky as Spike's skin. Probably because he'd done everything! He'd carried her in the run from the Jabberwock, prepared and cooked the dinner they never got a chance to eat, and fought the soldier. And he'd done all the work while they marched. He'd carried her--and he was the one in chains! She felt so worthless. She should have gone in the cart. She hadn't wanted to be separated from him but instead of being helpful she had been a nuisance. Again.

Now that she was awake she was afraid. What would happen when they arrived at their destination? What was their destination?

She examined the tall, dark wall of granite they were following. Great craftsmanship had gone into the original construction, the granite blocks laid out in a pleasing pattern, each block carefully aligned, but the mortar had eroded with age and there were signs of recent repair. Small apertures, inset at frequent intervals enhanced the design and Tara peered through one as she passed. Bright green eyes peered back, widening as they met hers then squinting suspiciously. The shadows of the aperture made the eyes seem part of the wall itself. They followed her for as long they could. Curious, she peered into the next gap and found green eyes waiting to catch hers. They couldn't be the same eyes... could they? Her skin crawled. She thought of paintings where the eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you stood.

She decided to quit looking through the apertures and craned her neck upward to see just how high the wall was. It loomed into the sky and she thought it was four or five times her height. She was very close and supposed that might make it seem taller. That might be why it seemed so forbidding. Sharp, pointed rods jutted along the top and Tara wondered whether they were meant to keep people in or out. She supposed she would find out--they were approaching an entryway.

More card soldiers guarded the entrance. They stood in small clusters of three or four, the soldiers in each group standing so closely together they overlapped and a picture formed in her mind, cards in her hand, fanned out so she could see what she held. She wondered if that were the soldiers' nature, to stay together like a deck of cards. One of the guards broke free from his neighbors, moved forward, and slapped hands with one of her escorts.

"Hey! These the prisoners we been hearing of? This the lad what took out Queen Walsh's pride n' joy? Don't look so much." The guards gathered round and Tara resisted the urge to shrink into herself at their scrutiny. She moved so she was between them and Spike. He didn't seem to be aware of their existence and she felt the need to protect him from their gaze.

Eight of Spades wagged a hand with grave importance. "We've taken a bit of the piss out of him. But don't let looks deceive. He's a right scoundrel and make no mistake about it. Took out Six of Clubs in a blink. Weren't for his lady we would've had a fight on our hands, fer sure."

"Looking ferward to that tale over a tall one. Best you get on to the courthouse fer now. No need to draw more demerits than you have to."

The conversation over, the soldiers moved them through the archway and Tara's gaze was drawn irresistibly up. A Castle! The darkness of the night and her dreamlike state had kept her from seeing this as they approached, and once in the village she had been unable to see past the buildings. The entrance led to an outer courtyard and now she was presented with turrets and battlements, a wooden bridge and a moat that was filled with dark, turgid water.

She blinked. The castle was a vision in stark black and white. The sun gleamed against white stone and dark oily shadows advanced wherever the sun could not touch. The fortress was solid and she couldn't deny the evidence of her eyes but it seemed unreal like the soldiers, a fantasy creation. Her mind tried to slide around it. She glanced at Spike to assess his reaction but his eyes were unfocused. Now that she was aware, he seemed to have retreated into his own dreamworld. Tara felt her heart squeeze. Spike was sick. She was going to have to take care of him. She wasn't sure she could take care of herself.

A steady stream of soldiers, villagers, carts and animals moved back and forth over the bridge and in and out of the castle entrance. She could see the chains and apparatus that would allow a gate to be hoisted or lowered, could see the lower rungs of the gate. The entrance made her think of a mouth alternately swallowing and spitting, its jagged teeth hovering and ready to snap closed at any moment. They crossed the bridge and she dragged her feet. She didn't want to enter but a shove at her back told her she had no choice.

Color! In contrast to its black and white exterior, the inner courtyard was dotted with color, shrubbery in a dozen shades of green, flowers and fruits, and banners flapping in the breeze, all multi-hued and bright. The tints and shades dazzled Tara's eyes. She was dizzied by the hubbub and bustle of the crowd that surged and thronged around her. Voices were loud and shrill and the sound of laughter fluted through the air. She could see the castle was actually a conglomeration of buildings, extensions and attachments, a collection of man-made mushrooms sprouting in, out, under and around each other, so close as to be almost indistinguishable.

"C'mon, c'mon, pick up yer feet, Missy. We're mostly there so now's not the time to tarry. Pick up yer feet." Tara felt hands at her back, pushing and saw the soldiers were extending the same treatment to Spike. He reeled, his feet caught up in his chains and she threw her arms around him, pulling him up. She shifted so she could take some of his weight and it frightened her when he didn't protest.

When the soldiers pushed at them yet again, Tara felt something break in her mind and anger flooded out.

"Back off! He can't walk any faster! I f you wanted him to, you shouldn't have put chains on him." Something seemed to spark, something elusive, seen only from the corner of her eye and the soldiers gasped. They held up their hands so she could see they weren't going to push.

The Eight of Spades spoke up but his tone was respectful. "We're late, Missy. We need to hurry and it's yer necks on the line, too. Just a wee bit further. If yer could move a little faster--it's not good being tardy in King Snyder's Court." He pointed to a doorway just a short distance away. Two steps or two hundred steps. Tara wasn't sure either she or Spike could move any faster.

One of Hearts emerged from the building and ran toward them, waving his spindly arms. "Hurry. Hurry up! They're just finishing the last case and if you hurry you'll be on time!"

The Eight of Spades seemed energized. "See, Missy. Yer lucky. If you'll just move it along we'll get no demerits."

Tara tried. Spike gave no sign of awareness. He simply continued to move one foot forward and then the other. Tara attempted to pull him closer, to balance him onto one of her feet in the same way he had carried her earlier but he made no effort to cooperate and she only caused them both to stumble. They fell and the Eight of Spades and One of Hearts grabbed them, setting them back on their feet.

"Careful, little girl. You almost fell into a shadow! Here let him go. Eight, you get on the other side." Between the two of them, the soldiers hoisted Spike off his feet and they jogged away, letting Tara fend for herself.

She trotted as fast as she could but realized she wasn't moving. She couldn't run fast enough or perhaps she wasn't magic enough. She looked around and found she was further from the building then she had been a moment before. She couldn't even run fast enough to stay in place! She thought hard for a moment and stopped running. She took deliberate steps, walked at a careful pace and she moved. What kind of world was this? I f she walked she proceeded as normal, but when she ran she stood still!

As she walked she could see that all the people, all the animals were careful to stay in the sun, deftly avoiding the darker pathways, careful to be completely in the light, not even a finger or toe allowed to fall into the shade. She had noticed too, when she fell, that the nearby shrubs seem strangely sunken, the leaves sparse and withered in the shaded areas. It made her think of the gasping flowers in the meadow where she and Spike had met. For some reason, it made her think of Spike's face.

One of the remaining soldiers drew near. "Missy? Yer need to snap along. Do yer need some help?"

Tara could only nod. The soldier swung her over his shoulder so she hung face down and her rump was in the air and Tara could see the people around her laughing merrily at her plight. She was certain she looked like a sack of meal. The soldier's shoulder was thin and sharp and cut into her belly.

She was jounced and bounced as the soldier trotted along, and she didn't want to look at the faces of the strangers around her. She was glad when the soldier picked up speed and the faces blurred. The uneven gait made her teeth rattle but she suspected they would be chattering even if she were standing still. There was something so wrong here. And whatever it was, it was affecting Spike. She wished her soldier would hurry. She didn't like being separated from Spike, even for a moment.

The soldier passed by a tree and a protruding branch scraped across her arm, leaving streaks of green and brown behind. The streaks had an oily smell and Tara recognized it. Paint. The branch had been painted! Suspicion bloomed in her mind and she tried to look closely at the fauna as they whizzed by but the soldier reached the courthouse and they entered.

She was facing the door, slung over the soldier's shoulder and she struggled, tried to shift her position so she could see. A man's voice, petulant and shrill, was ringing, echoing off the walls.

"Off with his head! OFF-WITH-HIS-HEAD!"

Spike! They were going to behead Spike!

Tara felt the porcupine ball in her gut spread its spines and she wanted to double over from the pain.

TBC...


	6. The Vorpal Blade 5

**Chapter 5**

"Off with his head!"

Tara couldn't see what was happening, draped as she was over the soldier's shoulder with her head pointed to the floor. She squirmed, wriggled her butt and pounded at his back until he staggered. He put her on her feet, annoyance plain on his face and tapped a finger to his lips before whispering, "Easy, Missy. Don't go disturbing the proceedings or you'll be put in contempt."

She still couldn't see. Scores of individuals thronged together, fantasy figures mixed with commonplace human, all watching the proceedings with avid excitement. Here a chessman--a pawn--stroking his red mustache with peglike fingers. There a woman, golden hair swept up into a jeweled snood, her lace dress and petticoats crushed by the press of the crowd. A huge Caterpillar looped his segments around a trio of round-eyed oysters and he puffed at a hookah. Smoke rings rose in lazy round circles and drifted toward the ceiling.

Tara didn't stop to wonder at the people in front of her. They were in her way. She eluded the soldier's grasp, pushed forward and darted in and out between the bystanders. They gasped at her rudeness but for once Tara didn't care what anyone thought. She wriggled through a pair of legs, stepped on several toes and avoided an elbow that shot toward her face and she was at the front of the room.

She closed her eyes in relief.

Spike was standing to the side, held upright by the One of Hearts and the Eight of Spades. It was some other unfortunate that stood in front the bench, quivering with fear as soldiers clasped his arms and pushed him into a kneeling position.

Tara felt the crowd parting around her, felt a breeze and a tremor shaking the floor as someone passed. She opened her eyes, widened her eyes in horror and tipped her head back to take in the full height of the creature lurching past. Three-quarters of its height was in the torso, a narrow waist set on short stubby legs and broadening to enormous shoulders. The arm that swung in front of her was twice as long as she was tall. She could barely make out the head bobbing atop the immense body. It was black and shiny and she couldn't make out the features but she didn't think it was wearing a hood. The massive axe in its hand was double bladed, a perfect device for parting heads from shoulders.

They were going to behead the poor man right then and there! Tara threw her hands over her eyes, digging them in until colors blossomed in the darkness. Maybe she was dreaming, still asleep. Maybe if she waited a while before opening her eyes all this would be gone.

"Stop! Stop the execution!" An unpleasant odor wafted into the room and Tara blinked the spots out of her eyes so she could see.

"Queen Walsh..." The bystanders murmured respectfully, and all those who were standing knelt. The Queen entered and signaled they could rise. Her scaly blue eyes appraised the crowd and for a moment they lingered on Tara. When they moved on, Tara released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Zombie. Tara knew what that was but wasn't sure why. A headsman and a zombie. What was next?

Spike stared at the Queen as she approached, circling him, assessing him from head to toe. "He doesn't look like much. This is boy that took down my Frankenboar?" She ran her hand through Spike's hair as though testing its quality and Tara thought she might vomit. Spike seemed more focused than he had been but his eyes were still clouded. He tilted his head as though listening, then jerked away from the Queen's hand. Tara thought he looked better, his skin clearer but it might have been the light. She could only pray that it wasn't. That he was getting better and would be able to fight if necessary.

The man sitting behind the bench jumped to his feet and his crown tilted to the side, sliding across his balding head. It fetched up on one of his large protruding ears, and was narrowly saved from crashing to the ground. He grabbed at it and shoved it back into place, his face twisted with anger and his narrow jaw thrust forward so his lower teeth attacked. "What is this supposed to mean? This is my courtroom and I've passed Sentence!"

Queen Walsh was unfazed. She turned away from Spike and pointed to the condemned. "I'm not trying to usurp your authority, Snyder. I want the head preserved." She turned to the soldiers. "Take him to the kitchens and complete his Sentence there. Wrap his head and put it on ice immediately." She looked at the prisoner thoughtfully. "Dismember the arms and legs as well. Store them and the torso separately. He seems muscular enough. I might be able to use everything, eventually."

King Snyder scowled but made no further protest and the unfortunate was hauled away, whimpering forlornly.

Tara's heart ached for the poor man but she couldn't help being glad when the headsman stomped away behind them.

One of Hearts and the Eight of Spades pulled Spike upright and walked him toward the bench. He was marched up the steps onto a small platform and propped up against the railing that surrounded him on three sides. Tara thought he looked small and forlorn, standing there exposed to the eyes of the bystanders.

King Snyder rubbed his jaw and eyed him with disfavor. "What have we got here? A child? Nasty things. But I run a fair court and he'll be tried and executed according to the same procedures as everyone else. I won't have anyone saying otherwise." He scanned the courtroom as though daring anyone to say otherwise.

No one spoke but the crowd seemed to press forward with anticipation. Tara sucked in a breath. This wasn't fair! Spike was innocent! At least, he wasn't guilty. He didn't know the law about rabbits and he had only been trying to protect her. Tara tried to speak. She opened her mouth but could make no sound. Her face was hot and flushed and yet her hands and feet seemed carved from ice. Her throat seemed clogged and she couldn't clear the lump that blocked it. She wondered if she were ill. Perhaps she had caught something from Spike.

King Snyder rubbed his hands. "What are the charges?"

One of Hearts stood forward and recited in a singsong voice.

"Hunting the King's Rabbit within the Tulgey Wood. Ignorance. Being outside his room. Getting up to No Good.  
Enthralling the ladies and resisting arrest!  
And last but not least--killing the Queen's best!"

King Snyder's eyes gleamed with malice. "Serious charges. Does the prisoner have counsel? No? Then we'll proceed to sentencing ... "

"If it please Your Honorable Majesty, the prisoner does have counsel."

A large disembodied grin hovered on the railing next to Spike. Tara's heart thrummed. She recognized that grin. The Cat! She remembered something about a Cat being able to look at a Queen. Did that mean a Cat could be a counsellor? Was that allowed here? The warmth from her face curled down into her chest.

Chocolate eyes appeared above the grin and a face formed around the eyes. Then a tail appeared, then hind legs, then front legs and finally a fully formed Cat lay draped across the railing. Tara heard someone close by whispering to another. "The Cheshire Cat. One of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart's big guns."

King Snyder's eyes bulged from his head and his body shook so that his crown danced upon his head, tossed it from ear to ear. "How dare you! Who invited you into my courtroom? Who's behind this travesty of justice?"

"You did ask if the prisoner had counsel. And the prisoner is entitled to legal counsel."

"That's just like a lawyer. Twisting a person's words around. I said this would be a fair trial. I never said it would be legal!" King Snyder thrust his finger at the Cat. "This is an open and shut case. No need for legal folderol. He's a child and there never was a child that was up to anything but no good."

The Cat folded himself and lifted a leg to give himself access to his nether parts. He gave his manly attributes a few leisurely licks. "I understand Your Majesty's position but allow me to remind you of the agreement recently entered into with the Senior Partners. This is well within the parameters..."

Queen Walsh sat down beside the king, murmuring, "This should be interesting."

"Fine! Fine, fine, fine! Get on with it." King Snyder sat back in his chair, arms folded and mouth pursed.

The Cheshire Cat rose and padded to the end of the railing. He paused, clearly savoring the moment. "Very well. I request that all charges be dropped."

"WHAT!' King Snyder leapt to his feet again, bumping up against the bench. "He's a child and a boy at that! He's guilty! He's guilty of all charges and probably a dozen others besides. What reason would I possibly have for dropping charges?"

"All the evidence is circumstantial, Your Honorable Majesty. Hardly sufficient grounds for such grievous charges."

King Snyder blew a raspberry in the Cat's direction. "I live for circumstantial evidence. And any grounds are grounds for grievous charges. You're operating in my Kingdom, my courtroom and my well-established judiciary process. You'll have to do better than that."

Tara held her breath. What would the Cat do now?

"If I may question the prisoner. I believe I can prove there are mitigating circumstances." The Cat dug his claws into the railing. Slivers of wood peeled away and circled down to the floor.

"Mitigating circumstances? In my courtroom?" King Snyder guffawed and the crowd broke out in chuckles and titters and roars of delight.

King Snyder rubbed his chin and speared the Cat with his gaze, savoring his moment in return. "No. You may not question the prisoner. Anything he would have to say is irrelevant. I call my own witness. Let the Mad Hatter take the stand."

Queen Walsh's head jerked toward the King and tilted in question. Her voice was toneless. "Isn't that the rogue demon hunter? The one that also works with the Angel? Don't you think that might be dangerous."

"Nah, I'm calling him while he's wearing his Watcher's hat."

"Ah, perfectly harmless, then."

"Exactly."

The headsman returned and the crowd made room for him. He stood tapping his foot impatiently, twirling the axe blade from side to side. Tara noticed the fresh stains sprayed over the darker ones on the blade and more heat seemed to leach from her limbs. Her face grew warmer even as the ice in her feet and arms sent out frosty tendrils.

The Cheshire Cat stood up further, rising up on his feet. He seemed more human somehow and Tara wondered if that were the effect of his stance or if he were changing his appearance. Could he do more than appear and disappear? Would he be able to help if Spike's case went badly? King Snyder seemed determined to find Spike guilty and she had no doubt what his Sentence would be. Why hadn't she let Spike fight? If only she had known what was going to happen.

"Your Honorable Majesty! I object. The Mad Hatter wasn't present during the alleged crimes. I fail to see how his testimony could possibly enlighten ..."

"He's wearing his Watcher's hat. Watchers are experts on every subject they know nothing about. I'm the judge, and I'm the King and I say his testimony will enlighten. You can question the prisoner on redirect."

"I can't question on redirect if I haven't questioned in the first place!"

"Exactly. Is that outside the ..." King Snyder sneered and spoke with relish, "... parameters of my agreement with the Senior Partners."

The Cat sat back down. His grin was gone and he looked very much like a Cat. "You are skirting very close to negating the second paragraph in the fifth clause..."

"Am I outside the parameters."

"No, Your Majesty."

King Snyder grinned with satisfaction. "Well, then. Let's hear what the Nutter has to say."

At first all that Tara could see was the crown of a oversized hat. Bits of paper were tucked into the hatband and it wobbled down the aisle as bystanders allowed it to pass. It reached the front of the room and Tara could see its owner, a pleasant looking gentleman though he looked like a fool; the too-large hat would have covered his head entirely, if not for the too-large eyeglasses. His blue eyes blinked owlishly, magnified by the lenses.

King Snyder pounded his wooden hammer on the bench and demanded order even though perfect silence reigned throughout the room. "Mad Hatter, do you promise to tell the truth and only the truth I want to hear, so help you keep your head?"

"Oh, indubitably, Your Honor. Your Majesty. Your Honorable Majesty."

"Were you present at the scene when this child committed his heinous crime of hunting the King's rabbit?"

The Mad Hatter reached into an inner pocket and pulled out notebook. "If you will just give me a moment, Your Majesty." He thumbed through the book, moving it back and forth from his eyes as though to put the words in focus. "Mmmm. No. No, I wasn't."

"I see. Did you see the carcass of said rabbit."

"I believe so." The Mad Hatter smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I got rather faint. I'm not good with bodies."

"And was the rabbit dead?"

"Why yes. Most definitely dead."

A smug look passed over the King's face. "I think we can say that charge has been proven. The prisoner is guilty of hunting the King's rabbit."

The Cheshire Cat jumped up and spoke in protest but Tara couldn't hear him. She was dizzy. The heat in the upper portion of her body throbbed and buffeted behind her skin as though it was seeking a way out. She could feel drops of sweat trickling down her arms, encountering the frigid cold and freezing like ice cubes. Spike's shoulders were hunched forward and he swayed slightly. She hoped he didn't know what was happening. Didn't know what she had brought down on him. She heard a thready sound booming in counterpoint to the throbbing in her head--like the sound of cannons thundering in the distance.

"Moving on to the next Charge."

Tara shook her head. She had missed that. The Cheshire Cat hadn't overturned the Sentence? The King was spouting nonsense and the Cat couldn't refute it? Spike was doomed. Tara's eyes were drawn irresistibly to the headsman. She imagined throwing herself at the axe and knocking it from his grasp. Maybe she could cut her way to Spike's side and fight off anyone that approached. The axe was almost as tall as she was. She doubted she would be able to swing it. Maybe she could grab it and run. Maybe it wasn't as heavy as it looked. The booming sound pounded louder in her ears.

"So then, Mr. Nutcase, have you ever taught this boy anything?"

The Mad Hatter blinked.

King Snyder scowled. "You. Watcher. You ever taught this sniveling brat anything? 1 + 1 2? Pi squared can't be eaten? How to tie his shoes?"

"Oh no. I've never taught the young man a thing ... you can't eat square pie? No, I don't suppose you can. It's an interesting theory." The Mad Hatter pulled one of the papers from his hatband and folded it into a square. "One might speculate that the roundness ..."

The Cheshire Cat spoke but his voice was resigned. "Your Honorable Majesty. I must protest. This man is hardly the only teacher existent. If in fact he is even a teacher."

"He's the only teacher under cross-examination and therefore the only teacher that counts. Second charge proven. On to the third charge. The defendant ..." King Snyder pointed to Spike, "... is obviously outside his room. Third charge proven. It's a given that a child is up to no good. Fourth charge proven." King Snyder snickered. "Having a defendant with counsel is proving to be more fun than I thought. I may allow it more often. And to show that I'm willing to meet the counsel halfway ..." The King placed his hands over his heart and smiled benignly. "... I'll drop the other charges. There is only one Sentence anyway. What does it matter? OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"

King Snyder jumped to his feet with excitement and the crowd stood up as well, all eyes glittering, voices rising with approval. They began clapping and stamping their feet and the headsman lurched forward, the sound of his heavy steps apparent even in the uproar.

Tara was shivering so intensely she could hardly stand. She wasn't going to be able to take a step let alone run with an axe. Her heart beat faster, beating, booming. She could hear the booming as a steady accompaniment to the merry noise of the crowd.

The heat from her head seemed to thrust down sharply, shattering the ice cold of her body into crystals and she felt the breaking sensation in her mind, her anger erupting in fiery sparks. She heard a ping and the room was flooded with blinding light. Her head seemed to burst and burst and she felt like a volcano and wondered if lava was pouring from her ears. The people around her scattered away, leaving a ring of empty space around her. 'Blast Radius' she thought and wondered where that came from.

Spike jolted. The light condensed, centered above him and swirled and struck, surged into him. Flame burned behind his eyes and his skin became a blackened shell and the shell peeled and broke and light poured from the fissures like molten blood. Tara felt the pull; her innards and her essence were pulled. Everything that was Tara was sucked up into the flame and the flame burned into Spike and she could feel the flames stinging and biting and singing and everything that was Spike overflowed with the power and she seemed to implode and explode and forever ...

... ever

ever ...

...Tara was limp, the breath rattled in her lungs. The light was gone, the flame, the power was all gone and Spike knelt on his hands and legs. The room was completely silent except for the relentless booming. The crowd lay sprawled in clumps, crawling over one another in the attempt to get as far away as possible. Tara tried to get up, to go to Spike but she was a rag. She was certain all her bones had been turned into noodles.

An Oyster stood, his shell cracked, briny moisture dripping and he stumbled over his tiny oyster toes, headed for the door. The other oysters, three men and an old woman followed close behind. The bystanders, pulling their wits together, scrambled to their feet and a mass exodus began.

Tara didn't understand what was happening as the crowd was suddenly thrown back. The Red Pawn skittered past her, or least his wooden head bounced by and suddenly bodies piled up behind him. The booming in her ears increased in volume. She felt like a cannon had been fired into the courthouse. Shards of wood and glass splintered and pirouetted into the air. Tara watched the round black object spinning round and round and round until it collided with King Snyder's head.

She realized a cannon _had_ been fired into the courtroom. Where was Spike? Tara struggled to sit up and she heard the Cheshire Cat.

"Stay down! This is a good thing ... kind of. Just stay where you are and wait til the fireworks stop!"

Tara didn't have a choice. Her bones were noodles and she couldn't get up. She tasted salt from her tears and cried. "Spike." She couldn't tell if she made any sound.

White chess soldiers marched into the room, spears held at ready and Tara watched as they pushed and pulled the dazed populace into orderly groups. A White Knight directed the invaders with curt words and abrupt gestures. She watched as they began piling bodies and removing debris until a path was cleared to the center of the courthouse. A pawn appeared pushing a large broom and then one with a mop and they brushed and scrubbed until the pathway gleamed.

Soldiers lined the path and the White Knight stood over the kneeling figure of Queen Walsh. He thumped his spear for silence and pronounced in stern and menacing tones.

"I declare this kingdom to be part and parcel of the White Kingdom, presided over by His Majesty King Giles. All bow and make ready for the presence of Her Majesty, The White Queen, Drusilla!"

TBC...


	7. The Vorpal Blade 6

The Vorpal Blade has been nominated for:  
Best Spike w/Other: Round 6 at the The Lost In Spike Awards Best Crossover: Round 2 at the Love's Bitch Awards Best Crossover(Book & Movie) & Best AU: Round 5 at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards 

**Chapter 6**

"What a pretty dolly!"

Queen Drusilla made the most of her entrance, each step deliberate, every movement airy from the toss of her long dark hair to the hand she stretched toward Tara. Her stride was serpentine, swaying, mesmerizing. Every eye in the room was upon her and the sly smile on her lips made clear that the Queen relished the attention. She was performing for the crowd but her gaze never left Tara for a second.

One of the white chess soldiers helped Tara to her feet. She wanted to go to Spike, make certain Spike was all right, but the soldier carefully but firmly turned her toward Queen Drusilla. Tara was too weak to protest.

Queen Drusilla was dressed in voluminous white silk, one shade paler than her skin. Her crown was a delicate lacework of white diamonds shimmering in her dark hair. Tiny rubies glistened in a fine spray across her bodice and skirt and a necklace of rubies clotted in a dark red slash across her neck and dripped down onto her breast. She played with the rubies and licked at her fingers as though she hoped to taste blood. White doves embroidered on her sleeves fluttered as she moved. Tara's gaze was drawn to the Queen's mad, glittering eyes and she thought of ghouls, skittering about in dark places. She heard Spike's voice murmuring, "Dru?"

Spike knew the Queen? Tara wanted to turn to him, look at him and ask him how, but she was frozen in place, unable to move her eyes away from the Queen's piercing glare. Queen Drusilla's hand loomed larger in her view, hovered before her face, two fingers extended. The ruby tipped fingers danced like butterflies dipped in blood and Tara knew they could pierce and blind her within seconds. Queen Drusilla cooed. "Such pretty eyes the dolly has. Such tasty treats they would make. But the dolly has a secret." She pulled back and spread her arms out in a dramatic sweep. "Just look at the lovely mess she's made!"

Queen Drusilla hugged herself joyfully and twirled, whipping the white skirt of her dress into a froth. She made a precise stop in front of Tara and knelt. "My Spike has found a volcano to keep him warm. All that power seething down deep 'til he needs to feed the burning fishes and then it all erupts in a fountain of fire."

She stood and her voice changed in pitch, becoming petulant. "I wasted my cannonball. I wanted to see all the pins go sprawling and all the funny little people run screaming away. But you already broke them, spoiled my fun." She hugged herself again but there was no joy this time. She began to hum, a broken, high-pitched sound. Tara felt the soldier at her side trembling, saw that all the white soldiers were frowning and twitching uneasily.

"Dru, Luv, she didn't break them all. She saved one for you. The best one of all." Spike shrugged off the soldier who attempted to stop him and gestured to the body of King Snyder. "Have a look. Your cannonball met the King's head and they got along smashingly!"

"Really?" Queen Drusilla's mood shifted and Tara could feel the collective sigh of relief that the soldiers didn't make. Queen Drusilla rose to take Spike's hand. "You always know what makes me feel better. Always my White Knight … oh, what pretty pictures the blood makes. I can see faces."

"Drusilla." The White Knight stood with his hand on the shoulder of the still kneeling Queen Walsh. "This … is the missing White Knight? Are you sure? I don't think he looks …"

Queen Drusilla spun about, once again turning her dress into an agitated froth. "Missing? He's been here since the game ended. Are you saying he isn't here before? I shall have to do without him?"

"He wasn't here after the changes started. He was the only one of us missing. But it's not like it's been a loss. I mean, you still have me. Everyone keeps saying he's the one …" His head rocked back and forth and he rolled his eyes and chanted, "Once the missing piece is found the old rules will be restored ..."

He stepped forward, unable to keep still. "Who needs him? One White Knight's more than enough." His massive brow furrowed. "Look at him. You can tell he's nothing but trouble … and his hair's not really that color, you know."

"Oooh, Angel's jealous." Queen Drusilla glided to the White Knight and ran her hand down the side of his face. "Don't worry, Daddy, I'll always love you best." She turned back to Spike. He looked like a boy staring through the window of a candy shop. She smiled sorrowfully and blew him a kiss. "I will miss my boy. He's so sweet—he tastes like baby's blood."

Tara couldn't identify the feeling that choked her, made it difficult for her heart to beat. The expression on Spike's face made her want to cry and she was sorry for him. She was sorrier for herself. What was the Queen to him? He loved her. Tara could tell. The Queen was older than he was! Tara's heart quickened and her head felt tight around her brain. She hated the Queen. The Queen was a scag. She was evil. Why didn't she and that Angel knight just go off somewhere and leave Spike alone. He was hers! Tara took a deep breath. What was she thinking? They wouldn't even be here if not for her. She'd be lucky if Spike ever talked to her again.

She looked at the expression of longing on Spike's face and thought perhaps the same longing was on her own face.

Maybe Spike wouldn't listen to her anymore—not after she'd urged him to stop fighting the King's cardboard soldiers. Look how well that worked out. They were trapped in this nightmare place. Still … she'd make Spike listen.

Moving quickly before the soldier at her side realized what was happening, she ran to Spike and spouted her words, willing him to listen. "Please, don't look at her, Spike. She's enchanting you!" Tara squeezed his hand, shook it to get his attention, praying that he would snap out of his thrall, praying that he wouldn't reject her if he did. Wouldn't blame her for the predicament they were in. A niggling worry wormed its way into her brain. Would he think this was a predicament? Was he so enthralled by the Queen that he was happy with the way things were happening? If she could get his attention would he just turn around and go back to Queen Drusilla?

Spike stared at her and for a moment Tara was afraid he didn't know who she was. He glanced at her, then at Queen Drusilla and back to her. His lips pursed, moved without sound and his eyes darted around the room. He seemed to be examining everything. Tara waited, just held onto his hand until his gaze came back to her face and wonder spread over his features.

"God, Tara, I'm so sorry. Don't know what was wrong with me. Was like I was in two places at once. Everything overlapping and I couldn't tell what was real. Dru. It was like she was the only thing that was real. Until you …" His expression changed to one of horror. "The storm? Whatever that was. It happened? You're all right? Din't hurt you, did it?"

"No. No, I'm fine … now. Are you okay? You were so sick."

He stopped and looked at her, searching for something in her expression. "I'm still not … I'm not seeing both places at once anymore. The storm made that stop, but now--one minute I'm here and then the next I'm there." Spike lifted their joined hands. "It's easier to stay here when I'm touching you. Like you're grounding me. Not sure what that's about."

His voice faltered. He swallowed hard and peered at her from under his lashes. "I think maybe my noggin's gone a bit soft."

His expression made her heart ache. He was looking at her as though her acceptance of him was the most important thing in the world. She remembered her own thoughts just moments before. She'd thought he must hate her when he didn't even remember her. Now he did and it was like … it was like he was glad. And that made her glad.

Was it possible that she was putting her own thoughts onto Spike? Not really seeing him but seeing what she thought he should be? Giving him the feelings that were really hers? She needed to really look at him. Really listen to him and not to herself. Something bad was happening to him and he needed her to see clearly.

Pushing aside her feelings, her doubts and just looking at him, she saw the physical symptoms of his illness were gone. The fine marble sheen was restored to his skin, his eyes were clear. Something else was different though, he wasn't just disheveled and dusty. She looked at him carefully and realized he was taller. They had been almost the same height but now her eyes were level with his lips—such beautiful lips, but not the ruby red she remembered. His clothes didn't fit any longer. His sailor suit stretched across his chest and the seams were torn. She had assumed the damage was caused in the ruckus but now she realized he had simply outgrown his outfit.

She suddenly realized why she felt so uncomfortable. Her own clothes were too tight. She had grown as well! The collar of her dress pressed against her throat and her sleeves cut into her arms. The pinafore that had fallen past her knees was now an inch above them and her chest had been flat but now … well, now it wasn't.

Tara looked directly into Spike's eyes. He was beautiful. She loved him, she adored him but she understood that it wasn't just Spike who had changed. She wasn't the same. He was still the most wonderful being on the face of the earth, but her own sense of wonder had evolved. She could see his flaws. No. She wouldn't call them flaws but she could see the … he wasn't perfect. She could recognize the impulsiveness, the cockiness, the recklessness. Spike could be careless, vicious. He could also be shy, brave, loving. Giving in to her impulse, she hugged him and he wrapped his arms around her, hesitantly at first and then his arms tightened. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

Tara felt as though her heart was growing larger with each breath she took. She did love Spike. So much. And it was real now. She loved him for what he was, not what she thought he was. And something else was new. Something that made her tingle. She wasn't sure but she remembered vague things about boys and girls and she thought maybe the feeling was S-E-X. She wished she could remember more clearly but everything was jumbled. She was aware of Spike's body pressed against hers, so strong, so hard and she never wanted to let go. She wanted to keep him and never let another girl look at him. She wanted all the girls in the world to see them together and think how lucky she was to have somebody like Spike. But he would never look at her like that. Would he? He'd want somebody beautiful and powerful and … he'd want somebody like Queen Drusilla. Wouldn't he? Tara tried to reason through her doubts but her clarity of the moment before was lost in the sensations flooding her body. She couldn't think past the thought that Spike's arms were cool yet she felt warm where they surrounded her.

"Oooh, clever little dolly. She's listening to the stars and they're telling her naughty stories. Better be careful, little girl. There's a dragon in that cave and he'll make you burn until there's nothing left."

Angel and Spike spoke at the same time. "Dru. What are you talking about now?" They stared at one another with dislike until Queen Drusilla stepped behind Angel and pushed him away. "It's not your time, Angel. It's time for Spike."

Spike moved away from their hug. Tara could almost see the pull he felt and she squeezed his hand, trying to keep him with her. A shamefaced grin appeared on his lips and he turned to stare at her but she could tell he was really attempting not to stare at Queen Drusilla. Tara saw the sly smile on the Queen's face. The Queen knew it as well.

"He's my White Knight and her Red Knight and when he's not, you've already gone ahead. You'll have to hold on tight to keep him here."

Queen Drusilla advanced on her like a cat and Tara shook like a mouse. Then Tara remembered she was protecting Spike and she looped her arm around his and dared to look directly into the Queen's eyes. She felt as though her soul was being sucked out of her brain.  
"Not your soul, dearie." Queen Drusilla's fingers imitated butterflies again. She fluttered them in a dance about Tara's head and moved on to Spike's. "You've called him a soul of his own but he still needs your blood and magic and you still need his. You've both been greedy—stealing back and forth. Naughty! You must learn to share properly."

She began dancing, throwing out her arms as though to embrace a lover and Tara realized she was dancing with her own shadow. The Queen stopped, deliberately blocking the light and her silhouette was thrown across Spike, covering him in darkness. She whispered, a sibilant hiss that made Tara's ears ache. "I didn't want to share. She's good and he's evil and he will make a choice—won't you, my Spike."

Tara could see Spike's eyes were glazing and she dug her nails into his arm until she drew his blood. Remembering the Queen's words, Tara ran her fingertip through the tiny beads welling from the wound and touched it to her tongue. Her own blood fizzed in her veins and she felt light-headed, felt as though she were hovering above herself, looking over her own shoulder. She rubbed at a cut that ran across her hand, made it bleed and lifted it to Spike. He kissed it and closed his eyes. They were yellow when he opened them and Tara wondered if they were making a mistake. But it felt right, exactly right. The Queen hadn't moved but Spike was no longer hidden in her shadow.

Knowledge came to her, the blood speaking within her, her magic translating. She and Spike were each other's shadow now. They were Good and Evil and no other shadow had power over them.

"Ooh. It's happening just like it did. You're a clever dolly but if he loves you, then he'll love me. The Jabberwock can only be slain by innocent blood and the Jabberwock has promised …" Queen Drusilla put her hand to Spike's face, "… if my Spike fails, he wins me!"

"Dru, pet." Spike took the Queen's hand and moved it. Tara was relieved to see his eyes were clear and his tone patient. He showed no signs of being enthralled. Not any more.

The harsh notes of a trumpet blasted into the room and all eyes moved to the door. New soldiers had arrived. They marched in precise formation, with exact cadence, each soldier moving into place, forming a guard on each side of the door. A herald declaimed in stentorian tones, "All kneel in the presence of the White King Giles or feel his wrath!"

Tara tried to kneel but Spike held her upright. "We don't kneel for anyone, Luv. Not you and not me." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and Tara was breathless. The look in his eyes made her think maybe … just maybe … Spike might think about her like … that. The thought niggled in her mind that maybe he was being reckless again. What would it hurt to kneel? What would happen if they didn't?

She decided she didn't care. She could be reckless, too. From the corner of her eye, she could see Queen Drusilla and Angel were still standing, as well. She pulled her gaze to the door as she heard the clomping of feet and hoped she was making a better decision this time.

T.B.C…


	8. The Vorpal Blade 7

**What has gone on before:**  
An accidental spell sends Spike and Tara through a tunnel to Wonderland where they end up as eight year olds, and very little memory of who they are. They have a series of adventures where they meet characters who seem somehow tied into characters from the Buffyverse. Spike is arrested for killing one of the King's rabbits and falls ill while they are taken to the courthouse. When he is condemned to lose his head for the crime, Tara erupts with magic and trashes the courthouse. No sooner has this happened, than the White Chess army invades and the White Queen Drusilla enters the room.

Tara realizes that both she and Spike are older now - probably around 12-14 -- as a result of her magic use. Drusilla reveals that Tara has given Spike his soul, and that they are tied to one another through blood and magic -- and they've been weakening each other by using too much. Tara, acting on impulse, tastes Spike's blood and gives him a taste of hers. This seems to stabilize Spike, who has been experiencing both Wonderland and the Buffyverse at the same time.

Chapter Seven opens with the arrival of the White King Giles.

**Chapter Seven**  
Tara's head whipped back and forth, her attention torn between the mulish expression on Spike's face and what she could hear beyond the door. Heavy footsteps thudded closer and closer and with each thud her apprehension grew. She had seen so many strange things since falling through the tunnel to Wonderland. What kind of monster was the King – just how wrathy would his wrath be?

But Spike was right; they shouldn't scrape and bow. At least, not when they were told they didn't have a choice.

Tara sighed. She was trying to convince herself that Spike was right but she couldn't help thinking that perhaps kneeling might be the polite thing to do. They were in a strange country after all and this was the King. Would it hurt to kneel like everyone else? Everyone except Queen Drusilla and Angel anyway. Tara noticed that the Queen was watching them closely, a sly smile on her face. Tara hugged Spike's arm closer and looked to the door, her jaw set in determination.

Spike was right. He was. They shouldn't kneel.

A large boot appeared in the doorway, scuffed, untied, huge. Tara gasped. The White King must be enormous.

The boot clomped down and the rest of the White King hove into view.

Tara blinked.

The White King Giles was a middle-aged, normal-sized man, dressed in white robes with purple lining, his eyes owlish behind glasses, and his crown tilted rakishly on his head. He was dwarfed by his boots, which were nearly wide around as his thigh and as long as his forearm. He lifted his leg for another step, the boot wobbling on his foot, and he carefully placed it to the ground with a clomp. His whole body reeled with the effort, the struggle to lift the boot in the air and then to retain his balance as his foot slipped from the back and jammed up against the front.

Tara suppressed a giggle. He looked ridiculous. But he was a king, and they weren't kneeling and his wrath had already been threatened. She knew she wouldn't like it if someone giggled at her – she wasn't about to giggle at him.

He looked about the room and his gaze landed on Tara and Spike. Tara prepared herself for his anger. Would he set his soldiers on them? Imprison them? Demand their heads be removed from their shoulders?

King Giles set his hands on his hips and his nostrils flared. "How rude. I expressly told my herald to demand that everyone kneel."

Tara felt her face turn red. Everyone was staring at her and Spike. She'd been holding her breath and she forced herself to breathe.

The King continued to glare and Tara realized that was it. This was the wrath of King Giles. For once, she was glad that she was so shy. Her embarrassment at being the center of attention was the only thing that kept her from breaking into laughter. Looking at his face, though, she had the impression that if she did, he might well start laughing himself.

"Sorry, mate. Don't kneel for anyone. Nothing personal." Spike gave her a squeeze. Tara still felt embarrassed but somehow it seemed less important.

"Ah yes. The missing knight. We have much to discuss. But first," King Giles swiveled in his boots and pointed a finger in Queen Drusilla's direction, "I'm really, really peeved with you, Drusilla. I'm awakened in the dead of night, told that the Black Army is at my back door and we must flee immediately, and then I find that all of my shoes have been replaced with sizes that are absolutely immense! There was no time to find proper footwear. I couldn't even ride because my shoes kept falling off! Do you know how difficult it is to hurry when you are wearing boots like this?"

"He had to be carried for the last three miles," one of the white soldiers informed them.

King Giles glared at the soldier, who pressed his lips tightly together and slid behind one of the other soldiers. After a moment, Giles continued, "I know you were the one who did it, Drusilla."

Shadows fell over Queen Drusilla's eyes but they seemed backlit so that red highlights danced in their depths. She pressed her hand against her mouth as though to hide the delighted smile on her face. "Do I remake your shoes like a Brownie? How very clever of me. I'm very cross with you."

"Oh, obviously. I have no way of knowing why, of course, since whatever I did to anger you hasn't happened yet. You on the other hand, have the advantage of knowing exactly what you are going to do."

Queen Drusilla stamped her foot with delicate anger. "You tell My Spike things to help him evade the Jabberwock. We can't be family again and it's entirely your fault."

Spike moved uneasily, and his grip on Tara's hand tightened. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Was he disappointed that he couldn't be one of Drusilla's family anymore?

King Giles sighed in disappointment. "Drusilla. You, of all people, should know what the Jabberwock promises is an illusion. You're the one who told us, that if we found the missing Knight, we would succeed in returning things to normal."

"I'm not always right. I don't see everything. I could have been mistaken." Drusilla pouted.

Tara saw a single tear flashing in the corner of Drusilla's eye, a fluid mirror that reflected light and shadow and form, distorting them all as it broke free from her lashes, and trickled a slow path down her cheek. Tara had the sudden fancy that she could see an elongated version of Spike's face, an otherwise perfect reflection, winking in the tear.

The King shook his head. "Why would you hope to be mistaken? The Jabberwock is turning our world inside out. Destroying everything. We're all afraid of our own shadows. We're all afraid, when a few months ago we wouldn't have known the meaning of the word."

Drusilla burst into sobs and the light sparked off her tears, tiny mirrors, a myriad of tiny worlds in her eyes. "I'm lonely! The rest of you march on past me, where I've already been, and I've no one to play with."

King Giles lurched forward, sliding his boots across the wooden floor like skates. "Oh, my dear. Don't you see? You've only felt this way since the Jabberwock has messed about. You've always moved backwards in time, it's only lately that it has troubled you. It's these damned personalities, these emotions that are the problem. Once our knight defeats the Jabberwock, all of that will go away."

There was a thunk and a patter on the floor as the Cheshire cat jumped in front of the Queen and meandered in between them. Tara wondered where he had come from -- maybe he had come from nowhere. That's what he seemed to do. His chocolate fur was a dark contrast to the white of Drusilla's dress. The spatter of rubies that decorated it made him appear to be standing in a fine mist of blood.

"If I might point out, it isn't the Jabberwock, or more correctly, the First Evil, that initiated the changes in your world. He's just an opportunist taking advantage of the situation."

Tara felt Spike start. He seemed to sway a bit. She ran her hand along his arm and he steadied.

King Giles' lips were pursed in exasperation. "Is that distinction really important?"

"It might be. You're basing your assumptions on the information given to us by the Queen," the cat pointed his lips at Drusilla, "and she is self-admittedly working with the First. We have to be very careful that we aren't doing exactly what It wants us to do."

"You don't understand. The White Queen has always called the rules of the Game. That's her duty. She travels backward in time, sees how the Game is played, and when she arrives at its beginning, she tells us the rules. That's how it has always been."

The cat made a supple motion with its shoulders, which Tara thought might be a shrug. She was fascinated by the cat for some reason. So far, he'd been nothing but helpful but she was reluctant to trust him. She sensed he meant well, but there were smudges on his aura, like fingerprints, testimony to some outside force that was directing him. Of course, she thought, she might just be put off by the fact that he was a talking cat, who could appear and disappear at will, and who liked to leave a big grin hanging in the air behind him.

The cat's tail twitched. "That isn't how it works anymore. The only rule you can be sure of is that there are no rules you can be sure of."

King Giles whipped his eyeglasses from his face and began polishing them with the hem of his sleeve. "That's absolutely ridiculous. What? Are we supposed to just guess what to do and hope for the best? Stumble around with no clear objective and try to make do with the results? What a mess that would be."

"It could be worse. The lack of rules has its benefits." The cat's voice was mild.

Tara surprised herself by speaking. "B-but there are rules. There's good and there's evil and each has rules and you have to choose which ones you're going to play by."

The Cheshire cat stared at her. He rose onto his haunches. "That's one way to look at it. But even that's a guess. A lot of people think you're born to be good or evil and it doesn't matter what rules you choose to follow."

Tara's voice was grave. Somehow, she knew her answer was important. She saw that Spike was looking at her, his face intent, and she framed her answer carefully. "Evil tries to convince you of that. That it's hopeless and you might as well not even try to be good. But it always comes down to choice. You just have to keep choosing which rules you'll follow."

Spike kept his gaze locked on hers, and his voice was as grave as Tara's. "What do you do when the rules change?"

Tara swallowed, even though her mouth was dry. She wasn't sure why she was saying this. She believed it, she knew that with all her heart, but who was she to be telling anyone what to think? She wasn't sure why she thought it was so important to explain it to him. "The rules never change. Only the circumstances. And the people."

Sarcasm laced Spike's next question. "So everything's black and white, and if everyone's just a good little body the world's a happy place?"

"No. It's just the opposite. About the black and white, anyway. That's why it gets so hard sometimes – because it isn't just black and white and gray. It's a rainbow, and," Tara stopped to swallow again, gather her flagging courage, "and, life, the game. It isn't about you. Or me. Or any one person. It's about everyone – all at once, so it gets really confusing. You can only see your part of it, and sometimes the choices we have to make … hurt."

Tara stared into Spike's eyes. She wasn't sure why, but it felt vitally important that Spike understand. She was sure she was making a hash of it but she had to try. After all, wasn't that exactly what she was trying to say? You had to try? "That's why love is so important. Sometimes …" How could she say this so it made sense? "…sometimes, love is your only guide. That's the important rule. If you don't know what to do, do what love tells you."

Spike ghosted his hand across Tara's hair. The smile on his face was twisted. "Isn't that why fools rush in? Love?"

Tara blushed. She'd known she wouldn't say it right. "You're expected to make mistakes." Her voice dwindled. "You have to learn what love really is …"

"And it just keeps getting harder and harder, doesn't it?" The Cheshire cat was weaving in and out between her feet, bumping with enough force to make her sway. "The golden rule thing is a nice idea but it's a little simple. Sort of breaks down when you start thinking about it."

Strangely enough, the cat's disdain seemed to resolve the issue for Spike. "Maybe that's the real problem then. Thinking about it. You start tearing it apart and looking for the reasons, trying to find out what makes it tick and you just lose sight of it. Forest, trees, wood in your eye."

"KISS, then, huh? Keep it simple, stupid. All the great thinkers in the world had it wrong."

"Maybe they did. Don't see that their great thinking has improved the living conditions much." Spike swept his foot under the cat's belly, pushing him up and away from Tara's feet.

The cat crouched and bared its teeth, fur bristling. "And the simple folk have? I used to think that. That you just stayed true to your own and everything would work out. I learned you get burned no matter how you play it."

"When did this conversation get to be about you?" Spike didn't have fur, but Tara could feel him bristling, nonetheless and she squeezed his hand, hoping to calm him down.

"You are all mad! Insane. Is this truly what we have to look forward to?" King Giles goggled at the three of them. "If the Jabberwock gets his way? We'll be subjected to this phantasmagoria of insanity? Clutching at harebrained philosophies and ephemeral emotions just to get through the day? Subjected to hormones and sex and … My God."

He shook his head. "Even that phrase, 'My God.' What it asks of you. Blind faith. The concept is, unfortunately, no longer beyond me. We have to do something to stop this. I don't want to even consider living in a world such as you describe."

Tara was tempted to stay quiet but felt she had to ask. "What was it like here before? What made it change? Do we know?"

"Well, we have the representative from Wolfram & Hart, there," King Giles pointed at the Cheshire cat, "who says he knows why it changed. As to before – it was simple. Legend has it that once we were all just playing cards. The games were uncomplicated. Not that things were static. There was change. Over time we evolved to include more complex games – you can see that I'm a chessman, myself." The King's voice was tinged with pride.

He shuffled about, dragging his boots against the ground and his white robes fluttered around his legs. Tara thought she glimpsed bare leg and couldn't help wondering if the King wore underpants. She wondered if he was human enough to have something for underpants to cover up. She felt herself blushing. What a thought! Maybe the King was right. Maybe she was mad. She saw that he was looking at her and she blushed again and forced herself to listen to what he was saying.

"There was no confusion whatsoever. When one game ended, there was always another to play. You always knew what was expected of you. Winning or losing didn't really matter. We had none of this folderol, life, death, birth, sex … bah!"

"Folderol isn't so bad." Queen Drusilla drawled her words and swung her hips in a flirtatious little dance. "Some of it is quite nice. Surely, you have the memories to remember?"

"Not if I can possibly avoid them. The very thought of se…" The King glanced at Tara and Spike, "mati … that is to say, males and females relating physically is … quite repugnant."

Drusilla's laugh was wicked and the King blanched white enough to match his robes. "Drusilla! Don't tell me you've actually … you haven't … My God. That's disgusting."

The White Knight Angel was taken with a fit of coughing.

Spike, his eyebrow raised, sneered at Angel and muttered, "Can't even get doppelgangers of those two together without 'em going at it like gangbusters."

The King polished his glasses with increased fervor. His voice shook a bit as he continued, "Life was vastly superior …"

Tara, again, felt compelled to ask. "Everyone was happy? Content?"

"We didn't even consider such things. You have no idea what a burden those concepts are. Everybody just was. We knew what we were and what were supposed to do. It was enough."

Tara didn't think it sounded like enough. She didn't think it sounded like much at all.

"Then this disaster occurred, that apparently had nothing to do with our world and everything to do with yours…" The King looked at the Cheshire cat, and waited for him to take up the tale.

"This disaster would be named Glory."

Spike perked up. "I know her. Bad perm or something. And fingers." He jabbed a finger fiercely in the air. "Don't remember much more than that. Except ... Buffy. I remember that Buffy died."

Tara remembered Buffy, too. And Glory. And she remembered fingers wiggling like fat little worms in her head. She clung to Spike as a feeling of faintness swept over her. Was she going to have to face Glory?

"Well, neither Glory or Buffy has much to do the mess here, other than the fact that one started the whole thing and the other stopped it. They're both here, of course, inasmuch as we all are."

"How about explaining that in words that make sense." Spike sneered at the cat who returned it with an unpleasant grin. Tara wished they would get over their animosity. She suspected they would be friends under other circumstances.

"Getting to it," the cat continued, "Glory, the Great Glorificus, was an exiled hell god who wanted to get home. This process required lowering the dimensional walls, allowing the dimensions to bleed into one another. Buffy wasn't able to keep the walls from going down, but she was able to stop them from staying down for long."

"I wasn't able to keep it from happening. Not Buffy. She had to stop it because I couldn't prevent it."

Startled, Tara looked at Spike in surprise. He was paler than she had thought possible and he looked so sad, it made her heart ache.

The Cheshire cat's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Sometimes, we all let things get out of hand. Little things mean more than they seem. Big things aren't as important as we thought. At any rate, the damage was minimal, all told. Even here in Wonderland."

The King snorted. "Hardly what I would call minimal."

"It was, though. Some physical objects bled through the dimensional walls, a few people, some animals, property, but mostly it was concepts, personalities, more abstract but no less real for that. Once the breach was closed, though, everything would have worked its way back to normal, more or less. Universes tend to find a way around the kinks and get back on track. It would have been as though the bleed never happened, give or take a millennium or so."

Tara tried to loosen Spike's grip on her hand without being too obvious. He was squeezing almost to the point of causing her pain. He noticed and gave her a brief smile, relaxed his hand. He asked, "So what happened? Why are we here?"

"You and Tara are exceptions," the cat raised a paw, pads facing outward, "but let me explain that after I cover a few other things. I told you that personalities bled over? Drusilla, Giles, Angel, me, a lot of others – we're all personalities from your dimension that have grafted, so to speak. Damndest thing. Some personalities sort of soaked into the atmosphere? You go walking along and step over a patch of flowers and there's this presence … " Both King Giles and the cat shuddered, " … Mostly, each personality took up home in one of the game players. No offense, but none of the inhabitants of this universe had much in the way of personality, beforehand."

King Giles pursed his lips. "No offense taken. I believe we were far better off without them."

There was a pause as a loud sound boomed in the distance. King Giles raised his eyebrows at the cat. "I think you need to speed up your explanation. If I'm not mistaken that is the Black Army coming after our guests. The Jabberwock -- the First -- is sparing nothing to get to them."

"Yeah. Where was I? Personalities. In some cases, it isn't a full graft -- more like a touch, and in others, the game player has become almost the identical twin …"

A series of cannon shots boomed loudly in their ears and the ground shook. Tara could hear the sound of screams. Spike grabbed her tight as though he were ready to carry her off through the night, as he had the last time they met the Jabberwock. Tara was determined that wouldn't be necessary. They were a team now.

Spike pointed his chin at the Cheshire cat. "I think story time is over for now, pussy." The cat's tail twitched but he agreed.

King Giles nodded. "Quite." He signaled to one of his soldiers, who drew near. "Did you find someone who knows the area?"

"Yes sir. One of King Snyder's lot. Bit simple I think but he seems to know the lay of the land."

"Excellent. Spike, Tara. I'd hoped to have more time to fill you in on the rules, but the game seems to moving rather more rapidly than I anticipated. I've had some supplies put together for you. Clothes -- several sizes since you seem to be growing -- some food, toiletries. We've found a Guide for you. He can help you get started on your quest."

"Quest?" Spike and Tara looked at each other.

"Yes, the quest for The Vorpal Blade. So that you can kill the Jabberwock."


	9. The Vorpal Blade 8

**Title**: The Vorpal Blade - 8?  
**Author**: Molossus (aka Rooibas aka myfeetshowit)  
**Rating**: FRT  
**Pairing**: Spike/Tara  
**Archive**: Please, just let me know so I can do the Snoopy Dance.  
**Disclaimer**: Joss Whedon owns the universe that Spike adorns. I just worship there.

Thanks to beanbeans,sexymermaid, and Moe H.O.S for making sure I write my English good and don't make too many mistkaes.

**Chapter Eight**

The walls of the courthouse rattled and glass tinkled from the broken windows. The cannon had moved much closer in a surprisingly short amount of time. How had they moved that artillery so quickly?

Tara looked across the room and saw their guide. One of Hearts, the playing club soldier with his torn and patched together heart. One of Queen Walsh's experiments. One of the soldiers that had arrested Spike. He seemed harmless enough, but there was something about him that put Tara on edge. She supposed they would have to accept his help for now, but she resolved to stay wary. She wasn't sure that you could really trust anyone or anything in Wonderland.

Spike was still arguing with King Giles and the Cheshire cat. Tara watched him and she was puzzled. He was so upset over the idea of a quest. It seemed right to her. Who better than Spike for a hero's journey?

"I get the idea – common enemy. I'm willing to help fight. But this quest business. I'm not prophecy boy. That's Angel. Get him to fetch your toy."

"I offered. They don't want me. Evidently, I'm not good enough." Angel jabbed at Queen Walsh with his sword, and herded her over toward Spike and the others. He placed his blade at her neck. "Can I kill her? She'll be too much trouble to take along if we run, and we can't be worrying about her if we fight."

Tara gasped. "You can't just kill her." Queen Walsh nodded her head in agreement, to the extent that the sword at her throat would allow.

Spike looked at Tara with fond exasperation. "She's already dead, more or less. Don't think death is the same thing here as it is back home, anyway." He looked at King Giles for verification of his statement.

"I don't believe it is. Some of the game pieces who have been 'killed' have shown up in other games. Other times … many of the pieces have shown up in the Jabberwock's Black army."

Angel shook his head in agreement. "It isn't the same thing as killing in your universe. Believe me, I know the difference. I know what death is." Tara hadn't noticed before but the white of his clothes was distinctly beige, especially when compared to the blue white of Kings Giles' and the rosy reflections of the Queen's dress. She wondered if that was because they were royalty, and Angel wasn't.

She took a breath. Angel scared her. He was so big. She had to say what she believed, though. It was important. "I think the intent is the same, wherever you are. Maybe killing doesn't mean the same thing for the victim, but I think it means the same thing for the killer."

Spike touched her shoulder. "You might be right about that, Pet. Problem is the old bat's dangerous. We don't want her around to help the First."

"The King just said that a lot of people who die seem to show up in the Black Army. That's the Jabberwock's army, isn't it? So maybe killing her would just ensure that she ended up helping it ... the First."

King Giles was nodding. "That seems quite possible."

Angel was shaking his head 'no', and so was Spike. "Death is a change. She'd be out of the game or in a different part of it, if she dies. She's more likely to be a danger if we let her live."

Tara's shyness was forgotten. "What she is or isn't doesn't matter. Killing is wrong. It's just wrong unless it's to save someone else's life. The biggest danger is in forgetting that."

Spike smiled at her, and Tara didn't like that slightest of condescending curls that twisted his lips. "I get you, Baby. Really I do. Just doesn't seem practical in this case."

"There aren't cases! There is just one being killing another. Were you listening to me earlier? Please, Spike. Something tells me this is important. Not because of her. Because of you." Tara tried to will the understanding into Spike. Her shyness was gone – the others might as well not be in the room. She had to make Spike realize how vital this was.

King Giles cleared his throat. "The child may be correct. Her arguments earlier apply very well to the organizational structure of this world. Rules are rules. Once established, they are unbreakable until the game ends."

Tara shook her head. "No. That's not the point, here. Spike. It's _wrong_ to kill."

"Pet … You said, yourself. Rainbow. Sometimes you have to."

"Then only when you have to. Absolutely have to. We're discussing a choice here. That means we let her live." Tara felt tears slipping out of her eyes. She was no good at this. Spike didn't understand and she couldn't find the words.

Spike's expression softened. Tara thought she could literally see his eyes turn to a sweeter shade of blue. He ran his thumb across her face, erasing the track of a tear. "If you think it's that important, Sweetness."

"Still a sucker for the waterworks, Spike." Angel's hand was playing with the hilt of his sword. "I don't feel like leaving my back exposed because you want to baby your woman. The bad guys aren't going to be playing nice."

Spike moved like a panther. Tara could see the flash and grace of his body as he left her side and planted himself in front of Angel, but his movement was more an impression on her mind than something observed. He pushed Angel's sword away and stood between the White Knight and Queen Walsh, managing to stare Angel in the eye. Tara wasn't sure how he did that given the difference in their height.

"I trust my woman, Angel. She says this is important and that means it is."

Tara felt a thrill at Spike's words. Spike thought she was a woman – his woman. She felt a tingle run through her at the very idea. With an effort she pulled herself back to the argument and now she frowned, her romantic thoughts completely gone. Spike did seem to argue a lot.

"It's always what the woman wants, isn't Spike? Maybe you should learn to trust yourself."

"'Cause that's worked so well for you? Maybe I think I've still got some learning to do, and I know who I want to learn it from."

Queen Walsh inched away, slowly at first, and then she scrambled toward the back of the building and into one of the interior rooms. Neither Spike nor Angel seemed to notice.

"Maybe you just don't want to think for …"

A rumbling blast deafened Tara's ears. The courthouse shook again; plaster and dust crumbled down on them in papery particles. Tara felt as though she were inside one of those glass balls, turned upside down and shaken, so that snow was drifting down around her. She realized her ears were humming from the concussion of the cannon. The sound around her seemed filtered through wool, and King Giles voice seemed to be coming from a distance.

"Gentlemen, we have no time for this. We're in far more danger of capture than subversive action from Queen Walsh."

Several white soldiers moved together and formed a barrier between the King and the front of the building.

The Cheshire cat rose onto his hind legs. His head was level with her chest and she realized he must have made himself larger somehow.

"I'm coming with. Wolfram & Hart has a vested interest in making sure you don't fall into the First's hands. I'm sure they'd want me to do whatever I can to make sure you don't."

Tara thought that sounded more like a threat than a promise of help and the expression on Spike's face made it clear he agreed. He opened his mouth and Tara knew he intended to continue arguing.

Shouts, and the sound of steel clashing on steel, the clatter of myriad feet, and the clack of horse's hooves were jangled up in the ringing in her ears. She couldn't gauge distance clearly, but thought that objects were closer than they were heard. The fight was _close_.

She grabbed Spike by the elbow. "You'd argue with Satan while he had you on his pitchfork, and ready to roast in the fires of Hell."

Spike grinned at her. "Why not? Isn't like it would make things any worse."

Tara made a face at him, and he let her pull him away.

"This way!" One of Hearts was jumping up and down in anticipation. "I know exactly where we need to go."

She wasn't sure she wanted to trust the soldier but she couldn't see any other option.

"Angel, go with them. We'll keep the fight going here for as long as we can." King Giles turned toward one his aides. "Where's my sword? We'll need every hand possible." He stepped out of his ridiculous shoes.

Angel's jaw dropped. "What? I want to stay here and fight! I'm a …"

"GO!" King Giles paid him no more attention, putting his arms out to slide on the armor that was placed before him. He was strangely commanding, despite owlish eyes and bare feet.

Drusilla stepped in front of Spike, blocking his way, and touched her hand to his cheek. Her eyes were large and sad and knowing. "I've lost you, Spike, when I've tried so hard to win you again. Will you forgive me for teasing you and your dolly? I never mean to make you unhappy."

Spike smiled, and Tara's heart ached with the forlornness of it. "You'll always be in my heart, Dru. You know that."

Soldiers, both black and white, spilled through the breach in the wall. Sparks scraped off sword blades, blood sprayed from cloven flesh, and within moments the room resembled an ant hill, swarming, alive with furious movement.

A pair of dueling soldiers collided with Queen Drusilla, knocked her to the ground, and sent her rolling, her black hair and white dress frothing about her.

Angel sprinted to her aid and helped her to her feet. Tara was impressed at how gently he lifted her. Queen Drusilla seemed to bring out courtliness in both her White Knights.

Angel looked down at the Queen, grim-faced, "I won't leave you, Dru. Come with."

"I've already left you." Her voice was distant. She pulled away from Angel and turned to Spike. Tara was startled to see the coherence in Drusilla's eyes. "The game has started. Listen to your heart and not your head, and that's the key to finding the Vorpal Blade."

The air seemed to waver around her, melt into honey-thickened translucent waves. Within a matter of moments, Queen Drusilla was enveloped and she shimmered and she was gone.

Now that the Queen was gone, out of the line of her vision, Tara could see the One of Hearts waving his arms at them, jumping up and down in frantic excitement.

Spike swung Tara up into his arms. She squirmed against his grasp. "No, I can run."

He jumped back to avoid a sword blade and Tara heard it hum beside her ear. Spike began running. "Know you can, Pet. Not as fast as I can."

"Spike …"

"Love. You're the smart one. You do the thinking. I do the running. Okay?"

Tara let it go, and Spike pounded after the One of Hearts, following him to the room into which Queen Walsh had disappeared earlier. Peering over Spike's shoulder, Tara saw King Giles raise his sword, and swing it toward a black chessman's head. They passed through a door and her view of the battle was cut off.

She laid her head against Spike's shoulder, clung tightly, and tried to make herself as small as she could, keep herself from being wind resistant. Spike shouldn't have to worry about holding onto her. If she couldn't help with the running, she wasn't going to hinder it. She couldn't help thinking that this was so much nicer than being pulled along behind like a rag doll. Maybe that was part of being together – neither was in front or behind, they clung together as one, merely switching places to use their strengths as needed.

If she could have lifted her hand without shifting her weight in Spike's arms, she would have slapped herself. She was thinking all wrong. They shouldn't switch between strengths – that was what they had been doing. She should be supporting him with her strength _while_ he was using his.

Tara closed her eyes. She didn't try to push her power out, just let it flow. She pictured Spike's aura, the sharp midnight black of it, and the bold slashes of red that rippled through it. Red like blood. That was their connection, the blood. She stretched her magic hand and grabbed a bolt of red, infused it with her magic and let the lightning reverberate through them both.

Her mind sparked with light, and she could beyond Spike's aura and into his soul. Midnight still, but now she had eyes to see the overlay of molten blue, the depths, the endless depths, and the dark stars.

My Lord, Spike was full of stars.

If only they could be lit to incandescence, why he'd have enough light to illuminate the world. In a moment of prescience, Tara saw that someday his stars _would_ shine. He'd burst out and be a glorious brightness in the depths of hell and destroy the shadows and be burned up with his own heat.

Fear clamped down on her heart and she pulled back, sharply, severing the connection. She felt Spike stumble and pitch forward into empty space.

They dropped rapidly, and her stomach lurched. Spike was jigging his legs; she could feel him struggling to stay upright, and find a landing place for his feet. She felt herself swinging out into the air, away from his body, his hands the only contact between them. A gasp forced its way from deep inside her.

"Grab something. Grab something. Can't hold you." Spike's voice was shaky with panic and Tara grabbed. She grabbed and found something round and slim and unmovable. A rail? A banister? She felt pain slicing into her hand; sharp bits piercing her palms; still she held fast, and Spike slammed into her, the rest of him catching up with her. She almost lost her hold and felt her nails ripping with the strain.

Then Spike's feet were solid beneath him, and he had her again, and they were still, except for the shaking and heavy breathing of their bodies.

"Tara! What the bloody hell were you doing? Whatever it was, startled the piss out of me when you jerked it away like that."

She realized they were descending stairs. She'd lost touch with their physical whereabouts, and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom of their surroundings. Every object around her was a shadow in the dark, half-seen and half-hidden. She felt the whisper of cobwebs across her face and resisted the urge to swat frantically to remove them. Spider bites were the least of her problems. She'd made Spike miss his footing and nearly caused them to tumble.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to help…"

"Keep it down, you two. The black soldiers are going to find this tunnel soon enough." One of Hearts was whispering in a voice that could carry for miles, and Tara felt a twinge of annoyance. Pot calling the kettle black.

"Let's just keep going then, yeah? You sure you _do_ know where we're going?"

The Cheshire cat interrupted, "If he doesn't, I do. The Cheshire cat part of me _knows_ every single inch of Wonderland. Plus Wolfram & Hart installed a complete set of maps in my head before sending me here. I've got double schematics, as it were."

"Yeah, but you don't know which tunnels are used in the game, or which lead to 'The Vorpal Blade'." One of Hearts was just another dim shadow in the murk but Tara could see he was rolling his hands outward dramatically in time to his florid pronunciation – 'The Vora-pull Bla-yud'. What a silly little cardboard man. She wasn't sure she could trust him but she kind of liked him.

"But _you_ do. And you know this how?" Before One of Hearts could answer, Spike put Tara on her feet. They had come to the bottom of the stairs. "Don't think we'll be running here, so maybe best you walk, so I'll be free if we have to fight."

Tara's nodded and knew he could see it through the gloom. There was a substance that coated the upper half of the walls, gleaming with a barely seen luminescence. She suspected they would be completely blind without it, and hoped fervently that it ran the length of the tunnel. She clutched Spike's hand firmly. She didn't want to lose him. Spike expanded on his question to the One of Hearts, "How do you know where we're going? And where might that be? Keep walking while you're talking, by the way. Rather be going the wrong way than sit and wait for the soldiers."

One of Hearts walked. Or rather, he danced his way forward, jumping to emphasize his points, and doing little jigs of self-congratulation. "Oh, there isn't much I don't know about these games. Some of us have embraced this new world you know. Grabbed out for the brass ring, taken the best of both worlds and made it ours." He seemed to think about what he was saying. "Of course, that doesn't mean I won't support your efforts to get the …" his voice deepened and he gave the words that strange pronunciation, 'Vora-pull Bla-yud'. "I'm all for ending the threat of the Jabberwock and allowing other vill … the people of this Brave New World to rule themselves."

Tara had the illusion that One of Hearts had suddenly lost his head and she blinked her eyes to see more clearly. She realized he was bending down to enter a small opening. She couldn't see the Cheshire cat anywhere, and thought he must have already gone through.

One of Hearts' hand popped back through the opening and waved at them, "This way, guys."

"Let me go first." Angel pushed in front of Spike. Tara expected Spike to argue but he surprised her.

"Right. I'll go last." He moved so Tara was between himself and Angel. She realized that despite their differences, Spike and Angel were falling into a well-established routine and both were automatically protecting her. She felt both a wave of gratitude, and a niggle of annoyance. She didn't want to be protected … and, yet, she did.

Angel grunted. Tara wondered what that was about. One of his feet slammed into her thigh and she realized his legs were thrashing.

He was stuck!

She bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. Being in Wonderland was like riding a carousel! She'd been flip-flopping through rampant fear, and romantic swoons, and giddy humor, all piled up on top of one another, and mixed, not stirred. She felt the onset of fatigue, and realized with surprise that she was on the verge of being hysterical. It occurred to her that she hadn't eaten since arriving here. The events in the courthouse had given her a second wind but the darkness of their surroundings was making her sleepy. She took a breath, and tried to keep the laughter out of her voice. It didn't help that Spike was giggling like a loon. She thought, maybe, he was a little hysterical, too.

"Angel, stop thrashing. Are you too big for the opening, or caught on something?" Tara turned to Spike. "Will you stop giggling. The sound will car … carry." She took a breath. This was serious. She wasn't going to laugh.

Angel's voice was peevish. "I'm not sure. I think I'm caught. Can you feel around my waist, and see what's hanging me up."

Tara backed away, and bumped into Spike. She wasn't about to put her hands anywhere near Angel's waist. That was far too close to other … things. "Spike, you do it."

"Hell, no. I'm not putting hands on that big lug." He wasn't even trying to stop laughing.

"Well, neither am I." Tara hesitated. She didn't like to fall back on feminine wiles but this was a crisis. She smiled. "Spike, please. My hands are sore …" Tara stopped, disgusted with herself. That was something Dru would do. Manipulate.

"Never mind." She turned back to Angel, aimed through the gloom and hoped her hands didn't encounter anything they shouldn't. She froze when she heard the sound of footsteps ringing behind her. Spike wasn't laughing anymore.

Tara didn't recognize the voice that carried, faintly, through the tunnel. "This way. They're down this way."

One of Hearts recognized it, though. "Uh oh. That's Willow, the Black Queen. She is one scary Mama, dudes."


	10. The Vorpal Blade 9

Title: The Vorpal Blade - 9?

Author: Molossus (aka Rooibas aka myfeetshowit)

Rating: FRT

Pairing: Spike/Tara

Archive: Please, just let me know so I can do the Snoopy Dance.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns the universe that Spike adorns. I just worship there.

WARNING! Character death.

Notes: Thank you to MoeHisOwnSelf and Sexymermaid for the betas and to Luba Kmetyk for kicking me in the butt and insisting I get writing.

Previously:

An accidental spell sends Spike and Tara through a tunnel to Wonderland where they end up as eight year olds, and very little memory of the past. They have a series of adventures where they meet characters who are somehow tied into the Buffyverse - King Snyder, Queen Walsh, White Queen Drusilla and White King Giles, among others.

Tara uses her magic and they discover that they are bound together in some way, that her magic is stronger when they are touching. She has inadvertently given Spike his soul, discovered they grow older each time she uses her magic, and that the Jabberwock is actually The First. Spike has remembered quite a bit of his former life when contact with Queen Drusilla made him see both Wonderland and their former universe at the same time.

They learn that when Glory opened the walls between dimensions in S5, personalities from the Buffy/Angelverse bled into Wonderland, and now many of the inhabitants are a blend of the two. White Queen Drusilla lives backward in time, and admits she has been working for the First, who is taking advantage of the bleed between dimensions.

King Giles tells Spike and Tara that they are to go on a quest to find The Vorpal Blade and return Wonderland to its former state. Before they can learn more, the Black Chess army invades and Spike and Tara are led to tunnels beneath the courthouse by their guide, One of Hearts. The White Knight, Angel, and the Cheshire Cat accompany them. When Angel tries to go through a small passage he becomes stuck.

Chapter Nine opens with Spike and Tara and Angel after they discover that the Black Queen Willow is coming down the tunnel.

The Vorpal Blade Nine

Angel's white clad legs thrashed. Dust puffed up around him, ghostly in the tunnel's gloom, and Tara wished that ghosts were the only thing she had to worry about. Was this Queen Willow anything like Queen Drusilla? Tara waved dust from her face and ran her hands around Angel's waist in another effort to see why he was stuck.

Angel stopped moving. "This is no use. Spike, get Tara, and get out. Queen Willow's no one to fool around with."

"Come on, then, Plum." Spike must have seen the shock on her face, or perhaps he just knew her by now. "Angel can take care of himself. Trust me on that. If he thinks we should go, just means we'll be in the way if we don't."

"What about One of Hearts? And … and the Cat?" Tara let Spike pull her in his direction. She didn't want to leave anyone behind. Spike hadn't left her behind when the Jabberwock was after them.

Angel's voice was dull, emotionless. "They're already gone. They left as soon they recognized Willow's voice. And I think Willow's the reason I'm stuck." He kicked his legs in emphasis. "She's probably using her magic to keep me here, so she can get to you. Go."

Spike took Tara's hand and pulled and she followed. She wasn't sure why, but she thought Angel was right. Still, she found her steps were sluggish. She forced herself to move. If Spike weren't pulling her along, she was sure she would just stop walking. For some reason she wanted to stay. Not because of Angel. Because she _wanted_ to see Queen Willow. Tara wondered if Angel were right. Maybe she was being affected by the Queen's magic too.

"Come on, Luv. We've got to make tracks. I've got a bad feeling about this."

Tara wanted to stay, but she wanted to be with Spike, more than anything else, and as if that thought were a magic of its own, she found herself moving faster.

She clung to Spike's hand. He strode forward with assurance, and she realized he could see in the gloom. The dimness left her almost blind, so she concentrated on staying close to him. She trusted he wouldn't let her fall. They weren't running, but Tara knew running wasn't always the fastest way to get somewhere in Wonderland.

She heard a murmuring of voices, and a steady tramp of feet behind them. Tara tried to ignore the sound.

A sudden tingling in her feet made her gasp and she stumbled. _Magic_.

The sensation intensified, and Tara thought the ground was rearing up - slapping her in the face. She realized that she had been thrown down, that the earth was shaking beneath her. Spike tumbled on top of her and her breath shot out with a huff.

Dirt pattered down like rain, crumbling rock pounded on her back, and she was drowning in a sea of dust. The powdery filth flooded into her mouth and nose. She inhaled, fighting for air, and found only gritty powder in her throat.

The dust subsided but the pounding continued. Spike was thumping on her back, helping her clear the grit that clogged her airways, his hand landing blows that rattled her ribs. She coughed, great hacking explosions. After long moments of noisy rasping, oxygen cut into her lungs. Painful, but Tara relished the pain. Her eyes were producing tears now, and she savored their moisture when they ran into her mouth.

Spike pulled her up, and she leaned against him, too weak to stand on her own.

"You going to be ok, Luv?"

"I'll live." Tara's voice croaked. She giggled without mirth. She sounded like a toad and she was sure she looked like one. A memory flashed through her mind – boys poking sticks at a toad to make it hop. Spike pushed at her gently, prodding her to move and she giggled again. She was a toad, and Spike was making her hop. She wondered, again, if Queen Willow's magic was affecting her but decided she was just going batty from fatigue and lack of oxygen. She was a batty toad!

She looked up and she could see Spike's eyes, even in the dark. They stared at her with concern, and Tara shook herself. She needed to get herself straightened out. They had to keep moving.

"Bugger." Spike's arms tightened around Tara, and she followed his gaze with her own. She couldn't make things out very well, but she was pretty sure the shadows and spectral shapes she was seeing were rock and wooden beams, piled high, one on top of the other, and blocking their way. They weren't going anywhere.

Light flooded into the tunnel.

"Tara? Baby? You look terrible. What's that vampire been doing to you!" The dark-haired woman -- or did she have red-hair -- moved a hand from the globe of light she carried, and she thrust it toward Tara and Spike.

Tara tried to focus, to call up a magical shield, but the power surged into her before the first words formed. She felt Spike's arms slipping from around her, and saw him flying toward the wall before she was seized, and lifted into the air. She braced herself for a blow, but what came instead was a caress.

She felt as though her entire body was being stroked, smoothed and soothed and wrapped in comfort. The dirt and grime was lifted from her pores, and her eyes were closed with cool touches. Her scalp tingled, massaged with magic fingers, and her hair floated free from its tangles. The aftertaste of sweetness lingered on her tongue. Her fatigue and hunger were stripped away, as easily as the grit, and she was bathed with a sense of well-being. She felt … she felt … loved. No, she felt … her body loved the sensations but that voice whispering in her mind ... _Forget. Let me take care of the bad things. Let me take care of you_ … She recognized that voice, and she remembered forgetting.

Tara didn't want to forget again.

She fought against the inclination to relax, to give in to the familiar mind touch. She focused on the sounds around her. Someone was talking to Willow, and Tara clung to their voices, letting them drown out the whisper within.

"You know, when the Jabberwock sent us after these guys, I don't think he meant for you to keep the girl. I pretty much picked up the impression that he had a King and Queen idea going -- one with lots of tiny tots popping out."

"Maybe the Jabberwock will have to get used to the idea of a Queen and a Queen."

Willow's companion laughed, and Tara didn't think she had ever heard anything more evil.

"That might make it difficult to produce tiny tots."

"We can keep the blond-haired freak around for that. He doesn't have to participate -- donations will work fine."

"But participation could be so much more fun. Not that you need Spike. I can supply anything he can, and do it better, and I'm a proven commodity when it comes to vampire breeding. I can show the two of you things …"

"Angelus." Willow's voice didn't change but Tara marveled at the threat carried in that one word.

This Willow wasn't her Willow was she?

Her Willow?

She had a Willow?

She did. Tara was remembering. Remembering instead of forgetting. And she remembered forgetting a lot. Willow had been playing tricks with Tara's mind for quite a while. How could Willow even think of doing something like that? Tara felt a surge of anger, and then the memories became hard to grasp. She could feel them puffing away like dust.

She had to focus. Willow's magic was strong, and if Tara let her emotions interfere its hold would never be broken. She pushed her anger back, and centered her thought on the conversation, and let her own magic grow, unheeded.

"… you're taking all the fun out this, Willow. You make me leave that wimpy, white-hat version of myself behind, you won't let me torture Spike ..."

"You said yourself, the Jabberwock wants him."

"He wants him whole, and aware. That's what I want too. No fun torturing someone if they don't know you're doing it. I'd leave enough for what the Jabberwock wants. Or as I said before, I could make babies as well as Spike could." Angelus purred, a lustful, obnoxious sound.

Tara tried to sort her memories – how could Angelus exist if Angel did? She felt her concentration slip, and let the thought go.

"Enough!" Willow's voice was edged with impatience, and Tara felt the grip of the magic lessening around her. She stomped on her sense of elation. No emotion. Her hands grew cold, her feet grew cold, while her heart burned, spreading warmth into her chest. Tara let the outside conversation flow past her consciousness and began a chant, let it simmer at the back of her mind.

"… like having some fun with the girl?"

"_You_ aren't having anything with the girl. Let it go."

"And how is that fair? I don't care if you intend to take on the Jabberwock, but I intend to get something out of this gig."

"How about I don't turn your innards into egg yolk. That do it for ya?"

"You're a real hard-nosed bitch -- you ever think about becoming a vampire?"

"I don't need to be a vampire ... what?"

Tara felt a tremor in Willow's magic, an awareness of Tara's growing power. The time had come, no more hiding.

Tara let her power erupt, and the force of the eruption threw her back against the tunnel wall. The blow made her head spin, but she saw Willow move her hands apart and the globe of light grew, and it ate Tara's magic.

The globe snapped, and sparked, and transformed into ball lightning, gobbling the dark and spitting it back as blinding light. Willow screeched like a wounded cat, and Angelus jumped back, putting several feet between himself and the bolts of lightning. Willow gestured; the lightning flared, and dwindled and disappeared.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Willow's voice was soft and bewildered, and for one brief moment Tara faltered. Willow made no further movement, but Tara felt Willow's magic clamping down, capping her own.

Memories flooded into her mind. Sugar sweet kisses, warm flesh, and gentle hands. Shared emotion – fear, joy, grief, love. She loved Willow. This, Tara remembered. And Willow loved her. Tara forced her eyes open.

The world seemed to split, divide like an amoeba, flow and shift and overlap.

Tara could see her beautiful red-haired Willow hovering above her, tears in her eyes. She saw Anya and Buffy, hand clasped over her mouth.

She saw the magic shop, herbs and spices and magic potions, chicken's feet, charms, candles and lotions.

She saw dark-haired Willow, purple-veined, black eyes burning. Cob-webbed walls and worm-eaten wooden beams struggled to hold the tunnel ceiling in place. She saw the pleading in Willow's eyes and she saw the aura smoking behind them – huge, monstrous, inhuman.

Dark-haired Willow threw her arms out, entreating Tara to come to her.

Red-haired Willow moved closer, kissing Tara's forehead.

The two worlds lurched and wobbled and then settled. Tara's stomach continued to churn.

Spike was lying beside her in the magic shop, ignored, while the others huddled over her body, and Spike was also behind her, struggling to reach up from the tunnel floor and touch her.

Tara realized she was experiencing the overlap of worlds as Spike had done earlier.

She let herself fall, let herself collapse bonelessly onto the floor next to Spike, and she took his hand in hers.

The two worlds wobbled again, jiggling like jelly, and then snapped back into one. Red-haired Willow and the magic shop were gone. Power flowed into Tara, augmenting, morphing, melding with hers. Tara felt a surge of confidence. Willow was strong, but together, Spike and Tara were stronger.

Tara slammed their magic into Queen Willow.

Willow flew back, colliding with Angelus and both went down. "Get out of my way." Willow shoved Angelus aside, and crawled back to her feet.

Angelus' face twisted with rage but he moved back. Willow's face and voice softened but her eyes were burning like coals.

"Don't fight me, Tara. Its _his_ influence isn't it? Don't listen to him. We're meant to be together." Willow pleaded but Tara could feel Willow's magic tickling at her mind again, trying to take control, alter her memories. This Willow did love her. Tara could feel that, see that. But it wasn't any kind of love that Tara wanted.

Willow thought Tara was weak; the slap of power she'd thrown at Willow no more than a tantrum.

Willow was about to learn differently.

Spike had risen, given strength by Tara, even as he gave strength to her. He wrapped his hands gently around her upper arms and leaned against her. Tara felt him opening, giving tacit permission for her to take whatever she needed from him.

Tara took.

She felt as though she were tapping the earth, the sky. Ancient power, cold and hot at once, flowed through them both and it was endless. They were merely the spout for magics so vast Tara was unable to comprehend them, and for a moment she was afraid.

The hands on her shoulders tightened and Tara steadied. Spike was the buffer. The darkness in him absorbed what would have been harmful to her but he had no ability to wield the magic. Tara's talent let her use what they were given. Alone, either would have been burned to the bone. Together they were whole, light and dark, melded into one, and a natural conduit for the magic.

Tara could do little but direct the flow. In the courthouse, earlier, the power had been wild, uncontrollable. Now, she had more sense of self, of the path the magic followed, and she pictured clearly in her mind where she wanted it to go. She rested back against Spike … and let the power flow.

The air formed around her, became visible to the eye, but only as movement. It wobbled and pulsed and the sound of its motion boomed in the tunnel, accompanied by the skittering patter of dirt shaking from the walls.

The pulsation of power thrummed toward Willow, a shockwave of sound, and Willow thrust her arms forward, palms out; a pulsing green light strobed outward, and the two magics surged against each other.

The two witches leaned toward one another, both frozen in place by the strength of their magic. Their faces were grim, intent, and wave after pounding wave of ferocious power crashed into each other. The earth under their feet shuddered, and the walls around them shook, and great billows of dust formed into ghostly, mushroom clouds. Arcs of lightening flashed around them, their thunder unheard amid the whomping of the clashing magics.

"ta - ra"

Tara could hear Willow's voice, thin and reedy, tiny in the cavernous echoes.

"do-nt fi-ght me, ta-ra"

"wil-low, stop please"

"ju-st let me in"

"no"

"so be it"

Willow broke free, cutting her own magic off, and falling backwards from the knees, letting Tara's magic sweep past her.

Tara fell forward as resistance gave way, and while she stumbled, Willow formed a small globe of power, and hurled it. Tara tried to right herself, moved to block it but it racketed past her. She realized Willow was aiming at Spike. He moaned; his grip loosened but he didn't let go. Willow was already reforming her strobing blue magic, and Tara didn't dare take the time to look at him. She could smell burnt flesh. Straightening, she moved back to support him, and he swayed against her. He was still conscious but she felt his control slipping. She could taste sedimentation, a yeasty darkness rolling on her tongue. Her head swam.

Willow stepped forward, hands held out, equidistant from her head, her eyes black holes to some dark and distant place. Power oozed out of her, and Tara thrust back with every atom of magic available to her.

Spike groaned. Tara felt him slipping closer to unconsciousness, and his head lolled against her shoulder. He was no longer suppressing the shadowed elements, and Tara shuddered as darker magic poured into her. Heady, dank power -- roiling and twisting into the clear, heavy streams of the purer magic, and it leaped out of Tara, tearing free from her control. It spread into Willow's magic with inky threads, until the green was shadowed and black. Within moments Willow sagged, and dropped to her knees. And the ancient, dark power streaked across her.

Tara screamed.

She screamed Willow's name, feeling Willow's pain, remembering Willow's love, and struggling to stop the loathsome essence that flowed through her body.

The power ate into Willow, steam hissing and rising, thankfully hiding the body from Tara's eyes. But Tara could still feel. Willow couldn't feel any longer but Tara could. She was a prisoner of the magic, unable to stop it.

Spike moaned, a small noise, and clasped onto her convulsively. He spun her around toward him. "Turn around, Love. Don't look."

Tara didn't think she could move, but then she could. She realized, vaguely, with some distant part of her mind that Spike was pulling the magic back. _He_ would have been able to stop the magic, if he hadn't been hurt.

It was her fault that Willow was dead. She was the one who couldn't control the power, and Willow was dead. Tara buried her face into Spike's chest, and let him draw out the killing magic until all of it was gone. She felt empty, a thin papery shell, and was amazed that the touch of Spike's strong arms didn't turn her into powdery dust.

She thought that would be fitting, if she were the one turned to dust, left to mingle with the filth and residue in the tunnel.

Spike held her, murmuring to her and rocking her. She listened to his words, "Not your fault, Love. No choice here. Wasn't a choice. Not your fault," and she knew, a little, that he was right, and she took comfort from the feel of his hand rubbing her back, and the way he held her tight. She took comfort from the knowledge that he would love her even though she was a murderer.

TBC...


	11. The Vorpal Blade 10

**Archive**: Please, just let me know so I can do the Snoopy Dance.  
**Disclaimer**: Joss Whedon owns the universe that Spike adorns. I just worship there.  
**Notes**: Thank you to MoeHisOwnSelf for the beta. I don't know what I'd do without him. 

**Chapter 10**

"Tara. Love. We've got to get out of here. Can't go back – the black soldiers will be waiting." Dirt splattered on their heads, and Spike laughed, a bleak sound. "This tunnel wasn't built for magical duels. No time for wandering, hoping we'll find a way out."

She hated the idea of using the magic. She didn't want to think about Willow, she didn't want to think about escape. She hid her face against Spike's chest. He'd grown taller again. She hadn't grown taller but was … fuller. For a moment she allowed herself to worry. Would they age every time they used magic? She dismissed the thought almost immediately. The 'My Will Be Done' spell had regressed them to children. Buffy's wish for a 'nicer' Spike, she imagined. Their magic was simply undoing what that spell had done. She was pretty sure she was back to her true age. Spike might continue to get older, though. She wasn't sure how that would work. Was it his physical years or human age that would …

"Tara."

Sighing, she looked up. "I don't want to use the magic again, Spike. Can't we get out of here without using it? Maybe the soldiers have gone. They won't want to be buried either." Her voice shook.

Spike looked at her without replying, let her answer herself.

"I know. They'll just wait outside the courthouse." She looked away from his gaze. She knew she was looking for excuses, but couldn't stop. "We have to go back for Angel. Maybe we can get him unstuck and go through that passage."

"We'll just pull Angel along with us. Doubt he's still stuck, anyway." He looked at Willow's body. Tara made herself follow his gaze. She'd avoided looking at the body, but it was a body she'd made, a person she'd killed. She should make herself look at what she had done. She was surprised. Instead of a corpse, there was a charred piece of wood. She could make out pieces of a crown, and bits that looked like human limbs, but there was nothing human in what was left.

Spike rubbed her back. "It isn't really Willow. Just the game piece her personality snuck into. She's probably popped up in some other game, even as we speak."

Tara shook her head. She knew better. That might be the normal way of things here, but Queen Willow hadn't died through normal means. Tara wasn't sure what magic she and Spike were tapping. Something natural maybe, but normal it wasn't. She hesitated, finding it hard to voice the words, but having to ask. "Do you think … I was in both worlds at once, Spike, like you were for a while. Is … is the real Willow okay?" Tara scanned Spike's face, watching for any hint that he spoke anything but truth.

He seemed to understand her fear because he looked directly into her eyes and spoke, giving each word a grave emphasis. "The other Willow is just fine. I did the double world thing a lot longer than you, tried to change – stop -- a lot of things. It was just playin' out in front of me, I wasn't really there. _You_ weren't really there." He took a breath. "I know you don't want to do the magic thing. Not exactly big on magic m'self."

He ran his fingers through her hair, and rested his forehead on hers. He was trembling, so slightly, that for a moment she thought it was a shaking of the tunnel floor. She realized he was afraid of the magic too, but he was trying to hide it – trying to be the strong man -- for her.

_So like Spike_, she thought. She felt guilty. He shouldn't think he had to be strong just for her. He shouldn't feel that he had to hide his feelings from her. He must think she was so weak.

They stood for a while, just stood. Tara struggled to be brave, put aside her fears. She listened to the wooden beams and struts groaning, the dirt and rock pattering down the tunnel walls, and felt the slight rumbling under her feet. The faint luminescence of the walls was made brighter by contrast with dark spiderweb cracks. She remembered the dust invading her throat and lungs earlier, and shuddered at the thought of being here when the tunnel collapsed. And she had no doubt that it was going to collapse soon.

She could open her mouth to tell Spike it was okay, that they could meld, and let the magic take them above ground.

Then she would remember the power tearing through her, and Willow's pain, and she would gag, her stomach roiling. She knew she wasn't truly responsible for Queen Willow's death. She knew that, but she didn't feel that. She'd taken an intelligent, living being, and left it a charred stump. She couldn't help feeling she deserved to be trapped here.

Spike ran his thumbs along her cheeks, and Tara realized he was wiping away tears.

He spoke in a low voice, fierce determined words. "It's all right, Love, it's all right. We'll go back. I'll tear through 'em. Fight every last soldier if I have to. Won't make you do one bit of magic. Not one bit."

Strangely enough, now that Spike offered what she wanted most, Tara rejected it. If she wouldn't use the magic, he'd be trapped too. And if they did get out? If they found the right passage or survived the collapse, if Spike managed to fight off the Black soldiers, and get her to safety, what then?

Queen Willow had wanted her as a protected pet. Willow's need to control had started as fear, driven by that need to protect.

If Tara hid from the danger, and let Spike take all the risk, she'd be asking him to take care of her. She might as well have let Willow have her way, in that case. Maybe Spike would never act the way Willow had, but that wasn't what mattered. If Tara wanted to be an equal partner, she had to take equal responsibility. She had to face her fears, forget her grief, and do what was necessary.

She closed her eyes. Better do it fast before she chickened out.

She threw her arms around Spike, opened their psychic bond, and pulled the magic forth, all in one frantic burst.

And the meld was bad.

He jerked, resisting the pull, then tried to open to it. Just as she'd done on the stairs; she'd startled him. They were a beat apart, both pushing or both pulling, instead of just letting the magic flow.

Their spastic, uncoordinated effort pooped out the magic in convulsive heaves, squirted them upwards in great spurts and sudden halts. The friction was painful, the bumps and thumps rattled their bones, and Tara was gritting her teeth so hard she was afraid they'd crack, but the magic protected them from the sharp rock and suffocating earth. She felt the tunnel shaking around them, rock crumbling, wood cracking. They were causing the very cave-in they had worried about. If the magic didn't take them to the surface, they wouldn't be getting out at all.

Tara held onto Spike fiercely, afraid their demented flight would tear them apart and determined she wouldn't lose physical touch. She felt the sunlight warming her scalp, and knew they were breaking through to the surface. She only hoped they would stop once they got there.

Angel! She was barely aware she'd spoken out loud. Spike replied, his voice gravelly with dirt. "We've got him, Love. I had him on my mind. Just don't let go, keep pulling."

Yes. She could feel Angel now -- now that she wasn't in a blind panic. She could feel the weight dragging at her feet. Who knew Angel could be so heavy? She focused and pulled, a mighty tug at the magic. She heard a 'woof' from Spike. She'd startled him again. Why hadn't she thought to say something?

No time now. They were slowing and Tara struggled to keep them moving upward, fought the inclination to kick her ankles and shed the weight. She felt like taffy, stretched unbearably, before it was torn to pieces.

"Tara, you've got to work with me. Please."

The agony in Spike's voice tore at her but she wasn't sure what he meant. She was trying her best, they just weren't in sync. Spike said he had Angel on his mind – she was pulling Angel behind them – so she must be connecting with Spike. They just weren't in sync. The horrid thought struck Tara that maybe she wasn't pulling Angel. Maybe she had latched onto the Earth itself, and she was pulling at the center of it. She'd turn the planet inside out, tugging the way she was.

"No, don't let go, Plum. Keep pulling … you've got to keep pulling. Just …" Spike's voice was ragged. She knew he was focused on Angel, taking most the weight, letting her be as free as possible. Had he felt this weight the whole time? Determination flooded her mind. She was doing a poor job so far but that was going to change.

She blinked the grit from her eyes, and fastened her gaze on the sky, and pulled.

And she pulled.

And she pulled.

They shot out of the earth, in a spray of dirt and ripped grasses, and earth spewed up behind them, rippling layer upon layer, into a huge mound of piled soil, a volcano of dirt. They spun up, and up, and Tara felt herself stretched again, thinner than before, and then the weight dropped away.

The relief was tremendous and Tara relaxed before she realized what she was doing.

The magic sputtered and faded. She searched frantically for the meld but it was gone. Spike fell away from her, and they plummeted downward.

She shut her eyes, not wanting to see the ground coming up to meet her. She couldn't see the world whizzing past any longer, but her thoughts tumbled just as quickly.

They were going to be killed.

They were going to go splat.

It was going to hurt!

She landed on Spike, who had landed on the mound of soil. The force of their impact drove them deep into the dirt pile and they woofed and puffed, swallowing great quantities of dirt. Tara thought she was more used to dust in her lungs than air; she was becoming a dirt-breather.

They were all jumbled together, and it took a few minutes to sort out which legs belonged to whom, and which arms. Tara wasn't even sure her head was her own. It felt so large and balloony. They fought their way free of the dirt pile, and found they were high enough to go ass over teakettle, and they proceeded to do so, hitting the ground with a thump.

Tara finally rolled to a stop, and felt her limbs. They all seemed to be there, and unbroken. Everything hurt though; everything felt broken. At least she hurt, therefore she hadn't been killed. She thought. Tara hadn't heard anything from Spike and scrambled to her feet, looking to see where he was.

He was sitting, a pale figure streaked with dirt, staring out at the other dirt-streaked figures, who sat staring back. Tara recognized the nearest one – Angel -- and, next nearest -- Angelus – and at least a hundred black soldiers. She recognized One of Hearts and … yes, she thought that lump way over there was the Cheshire Cat. And there was the White King Giles, and all those hundreds of white soldiers. Oh my, she thought. They must have all been dragged from the courthouse, down through the tunnel and back up through the ground, the hard way. Tara didn't imagine they were happy about that.

At least, they were all too stunned to continue fighting.

Tara cleared her throat. "Spike, you said you had Angel in mind."

"Yeah, well. Got a lot on my mind these days, don't I."

For long and long moments, everyone was still. The earth no longer rumbled, and the birds started singing again. Tara felt a breeze blowing against her skin, the warmth of the sun, and thought how peaceful it was. She wanted to lie down and just watch the clouds go by but she didn't think peace would last for long.

Angelus came out of his fuddled state first, and headed for Tara. Angel tackled him, and dragged him down.

The white army and the black army rose almost as one, and Tara thought it was beautiful, in a horrifying way. Like watching a black and white blossom unfold and realizing it was made of razor blades.

Spike came from behind her and pulled her close, swinging her away from the flashing blades with their cutting edges, pushing down on her head to save it from the swipe of a sword, bumping her sideways with his hip to avoid the stab of another. She thought she might have finally gone into shock.

She became conscious of her eye-sockets, as though she were watching from deep within her brain, and her eyes were binoculars. The flurry of sound seemed muffled, the shriek of steel scraping against steel, the clang of blades crashing together, the screams of wounded soldiers, all dwindled into a whisper.

The sun shone brightly and it seemed to grow brighter and brighter with each passing moment.

White soldiers were haloed in bursts of sunlight, bleached white as bone. Each lift of a shield, each thrust of a sword, each movement cascaded into sparks of brilliance. Black soldiers elongated, became silhouettes merged into shadow. They loomed large and malevolent, and slashed their dark swords into the brightness.

Tara thought it was just shock, causing the cartoon brightness and the sharp contrast.

Just shock causing the notion, that while white soldier fought black, the light and the dark itself were waging war. The dark was slowly eclipsing the light.

She watched a black soldier advancing on a white, and she blinked from the glare, and then she was watching two black soldiers turn on yet another white one. And then she was watching three black soldiers.

She was afraid, in a way she'd never been before.

This was magic and she recognized it. Not fair! She'd faced her fears. She'd shoved down the grief she felt, and now … had she and Spike been feeding the shadows by using the magic? Had they awakened something by tapping the power?

Was that magic inside of her … inside of Spike … even now turning them black inside? Was it only a matter of time before they turned, like the white soldiers?

Tara wanted to tear at herself, scream, try to vomit the magic out.

She forced the horror back, bottled it up, where it gibbered in her brain, and scrabbled to get out. She felt as though she had used up every resource she had, but somehow she had to find more – more courage, more strength, more intelligence.

The powerful emotions had shaken her out of her shocked state; she wished she could get it back.

Spike had kept her dancing, ducking, and dodging. Kept her safe while she dealt with her reactions. He'd danced around the shadows, kept them clear. He'd acquired a sword, and now he slashed one-handed at the black soldiers while his other arm held her tight. Tara saw that he'd worked his way into a ring of white soldiers; the two of them stood next to the King, surrounded by his bodyguard.

"What the Bloody Hell are you two doing? I've half a mind to put you down myself. I thought you were to save us from this nightmare -- not make it worse." King Giles eyes were wild, stark, in a mask of mud. He was shaking with fury.

"Can't help what you thought, Mate." Spike's mouth curled into a sneer. "Neither of us asked to be here. You want to try putting us down, go ahead." He stepped forward, and the two men locked gazes. The bodyguard was too hard pressed by the black soldiers to take notice of the possible violence inside their circle.

Tara wanted to scream at them. She had figured out that Spike was more aggressive when he was afraid. She expected King Giles was reacting the same way. She understood but she wasn't certain she could deal with it. She took Spike's free hand in both of hers, and tugged on it. "Spike, it _is _us. Somehow. This is all tied to us somehow."

Spike stared at her for a moment. "Run for it, then? Hope the shadows leave when we're gone?"

She shook her head. The shadows weren't going to leave the white army alone.

She caught a flicker of motion from the corner of her eye; the sunlight blotted out for a second, then returned with fierce brilliance.

King Giles threw up his hand to shield his eyes from the glare and pointed toward the sky. The darkness passed over again and Tara couldn't hold back a sound. A whimper of fear, she thought. She was whimpering now. Spike's hand squeezed hers, but he was looking up as well. She forced her gaze upward.

Her eyes watered, the darkness of the shadow made it hard for them to adjust when the light returned but after a moment she could see the shadow wasn't a shadow. It had depth, shape … feathers?

It was a bird. A huge bird. The fighting had slowed, the soldiers distracted by the circling behemoth.

"That one of ours or one of theirs?" Spike tugged Tara closer and she went willingly.

King Giles shook his head. "Neither, really. The Gryphon's no one's ally. Hates the Jabberwock though. He is here at our behest. You need to move swiftly or the black army will mobilize their archers." He tightened his mouth into a thin line then continued. "I'm trusting you one more time. Don't disappoint me."

"Wait a minute. What exactly does this behest entail?"

The Gryphon folded its wings tightly to its body, and it jetted downward. King Giles and his bodyguards jumped backward, leaving Spike and Tara to stand alone.

Spike's question was answered when the Gryphon swung to a halt above them, wings flapping in powerful beats, and it wrapped them in its enormous, horrible claws. Tara screamed as she was lifted from the ground, and she heard Spike call her name, before his voice was lost in the sound of the howling wind and the incredible whoosh of the Gryphon's wings.

TBC…


	12. The Vorpal Blade 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Tara scrunched her eyes closed, tightly enough so that cheeks nearly met eyebrows, and willed her stomach back down her throat. She decided her Wonderland experience was all a delirium. She was crazy or just trapped in a nightmare. She wasn't squashed up against a Gryphon's belly, gripped in its giant claw. 

The Gryphon dropped out of one wind current, its wings heaving in swift powerful beats, until it caught another. The jolting motion snapped Tara back to reality.

She opened her eyes and saw a chessboard landscape, black and white squares, side by side, back to back, front to front, neatly laid out as far as she could see, and she saw much farther than she wished. Hoping to distract herself from dizzying heights and rebellious stomach she replayed the last few days in her head.

Now that she remembered her other life, now that she was thinking like adult sensible Tara, everything looked different.

Everything – even Spike.

Tara compared the Spike beside her with the Spike lying on the Magic Box floor, and she could see the same man. Real-World Spike was dangerous and Real-World Tara was afraid of him, but she could see the good in him. Wonderland Spike was gentler and kinder but she could see the bad in him.

But what she saw in her own self frightened her the most. More than the terrible height and dizzying vista, more than the monstrous Gryphon, more than the mysteries of Wonderland.

She compared herself with the Tara lying on the Magic Box floor, and she couldn't see the same person at all. Oh, they both had much in common, and Tara felt she'd made all the same choices she would have in either world. The problem came back to Spike. Because Real-World Tara could never have loved him. At least, not the way Wonderland Tara did. Because Spike was a man. Because he was an unnatural being. Because she _was_ afraid of him. She'd never be able to trust him in the Real-World, and for her trust was everything.

But in Wonderland, she'd loved him – in one way or another -- from the moment she saw him. Child Tara had adored him on sight. Hero-worshipped him, as only a child could, after he saved her. When the magic had aged her to puberty, she'd lusted after him, without really understanding what lust was. And even now, after remembering that Real-World life, she felt he was part of her, she loved him and wanted him physically, as a lover. She just didn't see how that was possible.

Not without help.

Willow and Angelus had said that the First wanted her and Spike together, wanted children from them. Tara suspected that had something to do with the magic, the way they could channel it. Maybe that ability was something their children could inherit.

She felt a tingle at the thought of having children with Spike, realized she wanted to have babies with him. Tears welled in her eyes.

Had the First done something to her? Made her capable of loving men? And what had it done to Spike? Had it changed him into her dream man to go along with her new ability to love men? Could it be controlling him?

Her heart sputtered like a faltering engine. Could she even be sure that her companion – the person she had been with since arriving in Wonderland -- was Spike?

Tara gasped, sucked for air, and found her lungs were empty. The harsh wind swooped the breath away before it reached her mouth. The terrible claw squeezed her ribs, tighter and tighter. Blood pounded in her head. She realized she was hyperventilating, but couldn't stop, lost to panic. She kicked and struggled and hammered at the Gryphon's claw, not caring that she would plummet to the ground if it opened.

The memories she'd been replaying in her mind attacked her now, malicious and malignant. She fought the magic again, killed Willow again and grief poured over her. She watched the shadows paint the white soldiers black, and knew she was at fault. She couldn't trust anything she'd done or anything she'd thought.

Couldn't trust Spike.

Couldn't trust herself.

She didn't know who she was anymore.

She wallowed in the emotions, let the fear and grief and horror penetrate until they were bone-deep and part of her, and then something inside said, "Enough." She knew what she was up against now and she'd have to deal with it. There was a world to be saved.

She thought the wind was echoing in her ears but slowly recognized the sound of voices. They were calling her name. Arguing. One voice wanted to come to her, the other voice wouldn't let it.

For a while she tried to ignore them, but the voices persisted. The Gryphon was looming over her, peering at her with strangely familiar eyes. One of the voices belonged to it, and it was asking what was wrong.

Stupid bird. What wasn't wrong?

The other voice belonged to the … Spike-thing.

Mind and body snapped together and Tara felt whole again. Hole again. She snorted and grimaced at the snot that flew from her nose.

She sat up and wedged her way back from the other two, torn between embarrassment and fear. They'd just watched her having hysterics. The shame she felt at losing it almost overpowered the fear that one or the other might hurt her.

"Love."

Tara flinched. The Spike-thing was holding a wet rag toward her, and the idea of wiping her hot face seemed the most heavenly thing in the world.

She reached with careful fingers, taking the rag without touching him – it.

"You up for a bite to eat? Got some fish cooking. There's a change of clothes, a little water for cleaning up. By the time you're through, food should be ready."

Tara hated this thing. It crouched in front of her, head tilted, and gazed on her with such understanding, loving eyes, letting her pretend she hadn't disgraced herself. She forced herself to her feet, refusing to look at h … it. "Where are the clothes?" Hers were in tatters. New clothes were important.

The Gryphon nodded its head toward an outcropping, and in the dim light she could see a tent and a small pony grazing contentedly nearby.

Now that her initial panic was settling her focus widened, and she looked at her surroundings. She thought it was morning even though the sky was still dark. Patches of fog drifted here and there, a startling contrast to the clearer areas where the stars twinkled close enough to touch. A campfire puffed smoke into the air, the darker grey ghosting into the fog. The fire popped and the scent of frying fish curled into her nostrils and drifted right down to her stomach. Under other circumstances she would be enchanted. She laughed at the irony. Maybe she was enchanted.

"One of Hearts brought supplies with him. Just kick him out of the tent … or I could do that if you aren't up to it. You are okay now?"

Tara started at the Gryphon's voice. She knew that voice.

"Tara? Are you? Okay?" Xander's eyes looked at her from a fiercely beaked and feathered face and she felt faint. Did he know she'd killed Willow? Tara shook herself and made herself look directly at him. She supposed a Gryphon was an appropriate thing for Xander to be. Heart of a Lion, soul of an Eagle. He wasn't very grand-looking though. Except for being large. His tail was scruffy, his feathers sparse against his leathered hide, and he had a pot belly. She could have saved herself some fright if she'd known whose claws she was in.

"I-I'm okay. H-how are you?" Tara blushed and moved toward the tent. She was in control of herself now, but the control was fragile, and she needed time to deal with this latest discovery.

She knew she should wonder how One of Hearts had gotten here, but decided she didn't care. But she could get him out of the tent without a fuss. "Food's ready. Come and get it." She'd been camping with her father and brother often enough to know the prime motivator for a sleeping man.

One of Hearts' head popped out within seconds. "Oh. Hi! Are you feeling better now?"

Tara's heart sank. She'd flipped out in front of Xander and One of Hearts. She'd never feel comfortable with either of them again. She didn't feel that same embarrassment with Spike, but that was because he was a thing. She told herself that firmly – he wasn't really Spike. He was a thing. She hugged herself, trying to still the shivering.

She nodded in reply to One of Heart's question and moved on to the more important subject. "Clothes?"

"In the bag. The bigger one. And there's a brush, and I'll get you some water…"

"No need. Got it right here." Spike stood near with a small metal basin. "There's soap in the bags. You'll probably want to wash a bit before changing. I hung one of the blankets. You can use it to wrap up after – gonna be cold."

Tara sighed, and decided to quit fooling herself. She wanted to throw herself at Spike and let him hold her. She couldn't think of him as a thing. But she wasn't going to trust him. Not until she knew more.

No telling what Spike was thinking but he seemed to understand her hesitation. He put the basin down on a waist-high outcropping of rock, and lifted his arms in a hands-off gesture. He turned away and Tara could see muscles jumping in his cheek.

One of Hearts was all ready poking at the fire with a stick. Tara wondered how flammable he was.

Her hair was stiff with dirt and the grime was deep in the pores of her skin. She made a quick wash up, anyway. The cold bit deep and a lot more soap and water would be needed for a decent job. Her stomach was growling now. The fish smelled delicious and she wondered about that. Even as a child she hadn't liked the taste of flesh -- fish, fowl, or meat. She'd only eaten it because her father insisted. She was remembering the taste of fish now, and anticipating it eagerly.

Hunger? Or was it another sign of tampering?

Spike was dressed in a dark leather tunic that reminded her oddly of his Real-World duster. Her own outfit was a lacy burgundy tunic fringed with wide flaps. Very pretty. She felt angry for a moment. What good was pretty for someone who was going on a quest? The flaps would get tangled and let in the cold, and there were no pockets. Spike's tunic had pockets.

She let the anger simmer. She had to go back and face a Gryphon whose best friend she had killed, a loved one who might actually be the force behind all evil, and a playing card soldier who seemed a bit simple. If she was angry maybe she wouldn't break into hysterics again.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch." One of Hearts was dancing in place and shoveling fish into his face. The food was obviously too hot, and burned his mouth but he didn't slow down, merely alternated between chewing and ouching. Tara smiled. She couldn't trust One of Hearts anymore than she trusted anyone here, but she did like him.

"I've dished some up for you." Spike pointed to a bowl of polished wood, heaped with fish and rice. "Figured I'd better get some before it was all eaten." He looked down at his own bowl. "You feeling better?"

"Mmmm." Tara looked at the fish. There was rice. She didn't have to eat the fish. She wanted to and that frightened her. She shouldn't want to. Eating it made sense. Who knew when she'd get the chance again. She couldn't plan a balanced vegetarian diet and needed to eat whatever came her way. But she shouldn't want to.

Dizziness swept over her and she closed her eyes. This way lay madness. She just had to accept for now that things were different and worry about why later. Otherwise, she would work herself into another fit.

"You won't have another spell, you know." Spike was watching her, his face intent and his eyes … they were full of something but Tara wasn't going to call it love. She crinkled her brow in question.

"Your … hysterics. You won't do that again. I expected some kind of fit after the thing with Willow. But you kept on going, doing what was needed. 'Spect you'd have kept hanging on. Except then you were dangled in the air like a rag doll. Nothing to do but feel helpless." He twisted his face into a sympathetic grimace. "Harder to hang on when you're actually hanging."

Tara had to smile. "I didn't notice you freaking out."

Spike seemed encouraged by her smile and returned it with one of his own. "_Didn't notice_ being the operative word. Words. Was going a bit googly myself."

She took a bite of fish to change the direction of her thoughts. Spike's smile was causing sensations she didn't want to deal with. She closed her eyes, letting the savory taste explode on her tongue, and gave a silent prayer of thanks. Something had died for her needs. She was grateful for that.

"Love, we need to talk. I know you don't want to but …"

Tara opened her eyes and tried not to glare. This she remembered about Spike. He didn't like to let go of a subject once he started it. She glanced at One of Hearts. He seemed to be communing with his food and not paying attention to their conversation. Xander looked like a huge rock, all curled up and unmoving. Tara was pretty sure he was sleeping.

"I'm thinking you've figured a few things out. Remembered what we were like in the other world and it's got you spooked." Spike tilted his head.

Realization washed over Tara. "You knew? Before I did? You knew about our other lives?" Suspicion flared. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Spike sat his bowl down and slid off the rock, to the ground, putting himself at eye level with her. "You got your memories from Willow. I got mine from Dru." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "It's taken me a while to sort things out. She moves backward in time, right? My memories didn't make sense because I'm remembering things that haven't happened yet. I think." He smiled, a tight bitter grimace. "Lot of it's still jumbled. I think I've had a soul before. Which is good 'cause I'd already dealt with that."

Tara blinked. She hadn't even thought about the consequences of Spike having a soul. She hadn't understood what Dru was talking about at the time. For that matter… "Spike. Why are you able to walk in the sunlight? Why are you eating that instead of blood?" Tara pointed to his bowl.

His brow crumpled in thought. "Dunno. Hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I didn't know I was a vamp until Dru, and by then I had just accepted the way things were. The magic? This world?" He pointed at The Gryphon. "Harris don't have wings in the other world, and Giles wasn't a king." He paused, thoughtfully, and his voice was tinged with humor when he continued, "Dru might move backwards in time, though. That almost makes sense. Point is -- different world, different us."

Tara tapped her fingers against her bowl and didn't answer. What Spike was saying made sense. But Spike had always been good with the truth. He could twist it to suit himself. She decided she had always been good with truth as well.

"Spike, I don't know what to think." She put down her own bowl and put her hands to her forehead. "I seem to love you … I do love you … if you're what I think you are." She laughed with bitter exasperation. She wasn't saying what she wanted to. That hadn't changed from before.

"But, you can't trust me."

"No, I can't. More importantly, I can't trust myself. " Tara tried to keep her voice even but her throat closed. "Do you think the First … did something to us?"

Spike didn't answer immediately. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, carefully as though he were afraid she would jump and run. Tara was reminded of her first meeting with the boy Spike.

They had both changed so much in so short a time. No wonder they were confused. The firelight flickered across Spike, casting him into deep shadow, highlighting the bone structure and the muscles of his body, and she couldn't tell where love stopped and lust began.

"Hey. Are you going to eat the rest of that."

One of Hearts voice slapped against Tara like a douse of cold water. She realized she'd been holding her breath and forced air into her lungs.

"I think you've had enough." Spike's eyes flashed yellow.

Tara wasn't ready to deal with an argument and she was happy to change the subject. "I won't be eating any more. One … do people call you One of Hearts?"

"Yeah, 'cause I would of thought Ace, on account of cards having aces instead of ones." Spike sneered. "On second thought."

One of Hearts' smile was closer to a grimace. "Yeah. Well, that's why I prefer my human name – Andrew. Or Riley. I haven't decided which I should use."

Tara's body tightened with apprehension. "Riley?"

"He's my other half. Used to be one of Queen Walsh's blue-eyed boys but he kinda got on her bad side." Andrew laughed without humor. "Guess I kinda did too. Actually, I can't complain. I got the best of both of us. My brain and his … you know."

"So you're a bigger dick than even before?" Spike drawled, amusement lighting his face.

"Spike!" Tara slapped him on the knee, forgetting that she wasn't going to touch him. Her stomach churned and she thought she would lose what she had just eaten. "We knew Riley! It isn't funny. It wasn't funny when Professor Walsh was doing her experiments then, and it isn't funny now."

She rose and backed away. She was letting Spike get under her guard, and this sort of thing was why she couldn't. The worst part was that she still wasn't sure if this was just Spike being Spike or something else all together.

"Tara." Spike was following her and she thought about screaming for Xander. But in her heart of hearts she couldn't believe that Spike would hurt her. She was probably being stupid but she just couldn't believe it. She stopped, and looked up at the stars. The sky was getting lighter but she could still see them shining.

"I'm sorry, Pet. There are still some things I don't get. Connections I just … I mean ..." His face twisted with frustration. "Riley's a git! And this wasn't even the real Riley. And even Ace doesn't mind what happened!" Spike took a breath before continuing in a calmer voice. "I'm trying to understand why you're so upset."

Tara felt herself softening. "The point isn't whether Riley's a git or we knew him or if Andrew's okay with it. It's about suffering and caring. Empathy for others."

Spike's brow creased. "You can't do good just because it's the right thing to do? You have to feel everyone's pain? Seems to me that'd just give you a bellyache." He pressed his fingers to his temples. "You'd think having the soul would make it easier. But I still can't feel the pain of all those people I killed. Just my own pain knowing I killed them." He shrugged. "I want to do right. Be good. Help make things better. Isn't that enough?"

Tara chewed at her lip. "I'm not sure. I think if you don't feel the pain you don't act fast enough. You go too far and hurt others without meaning to. I think you need the pain."

Spike sighed. "Shoulda known you weren't just being a prig. That's …"

She blinked and felt her jaw drop. "Are you calling me a prig?"

He hesitated before speaking. "Well, yeah. I mean … don't care what you say. The idea of that shrimp boasting about having Riley's danglies? Ace doesn't even have any."

"Well, maybe you just have be at the right angle or something!" Tara spoke in anger, the first thing that came to mind. She had a sudden image of herself bending over, trying to peek up between Andrew's legs and clapped a hand over her mouth. It was funny.

Spike's smile was fierce. "Hah. You're getting it now. How 'bout I concede that Riley's worth the saliva it would take to spit on him, and you concede that you have to laugh at the ridiculous, even when it hurts?"

Tara tried to school her face into primness. If that was priggish so be it. "This isn't the conversation we should be having."

"Reckon you're right there." Spike's smile disappeared and his face became serious. "I love you, Tara. That has to mean something."

"Not if the First is making you love me." Tara hesitated. "Making me love you."

"I've tangled with it before, you know – the First. Or I will. Damn, the time thing's a bear." Spike stepped closer and Tara let him. His words tumbled out as though he couldn't hold them in. "See. You say you love me. And the First couldn't do that. Lust. Yeah. Right up its alley. But the First doesn't know beans about love. And the soul – I really don't think the First wanted me to have a soul. I think you did that. Gave me the soul 'cause you knew, on some level, that I was going to need one. And, there's this wise person, this woman I know. She taught me that you have to let love guide you. So, I'm saying …"

"We should just love each other and go from there." Tara swallowed. Spike was challenging her own convictions. And he was right. If she couldn't trust him, and she couldn't trust herself, what else did she have to trust except for her own beliefs?

He was holding out his hand, staring at her with such intensity she felt mesmerized.

The sun broke into the night with a brilliant array of color, and Tara realized they were in the mountains, so high they were actually above the clouds. The newborn sun caught them with its liquid fire, turning them into a sea of gold, and she and Spike were bathed in its light.

Tara sighed. She should be suspicious of such an obvious sign but maybe …

"No hanky-panky. And no magic. I won't do the magic." Tara's heart beat faster when Spike nodded agreement. She was frightened but for the first time since arriving in Wonderland she felt in control. She reached out and took Spike's hand.

Love would guide them.


	13. The Vorpal Blade 12

Thanks to hesadevil, sexymermaid and bogwitch for the beta. 

**Summary of story to date**: A spell read at the wrong moment sends Spike and Tara to Wonderland. They arrive as young children, with only a vague memory of their past. Every time that Tara uses magic, the two grow a little older. They discover that when Glory opened the portal in the Buffyverse, personalities from that universe bled into Wonderland. While some inhabitants are unaffected, many are now a cross between their original Wonderland self, and a character from the Buffyverse. Most importantly: White Queen Dru, White King Giles, Xander the Gryphon, Andrew/Riley, the One of Hearts and The First/Jabberwock. The First has taken advantage of this situation and intends to make Wonderland it's own. Spike and Tara are asked to go on a quest to find The Vorpal Blade, and use it to defeat The First/Jabberwock.

In the last chapter, Tara has a panic attack and believes that Spike is The First or his minion. She thinks The First may have changed her somehow, and made her fall in love with Spike. She finds she can't hold on to that belief for long. Spike explains to her that The First might be messing with them, but that It couldn't affect their love. The First knows nothing about love. That makes sense to Tara. She agrees to accept her love as real for now and she feels in control for the first time since arriving in Wonderland.

**  
Chapter 12**

Tara watched the clouds dissipating in the morning sun, revealing the black-and-white squares of the valley below. She didn't want to leave this meadow at the top of the world. The golden sunrise, the decision to let love guide them--it all seemed so right. She felt so centered but she also felt ready to rumble.

Putting her hand in Spike's, she said. "Let's get back to camp, and find out what we need to do."

The words were barely spoken when the world shifted; Tara's nose, and her three left toes, and her vertebrae stayed on the mountain, while the rest of her str-re-e-et-ch-ed. The world snapped back in place. Before she could even blink her eyes, the shift started again, slower, shimmying to the right, tilting in the air, a carnival ride to unreality, and it took all of Tara this time, sliding her down a tunnel, bumpety-bump-bump…

She swung her head back and forth, wildly. They were in a forest of fungi--all manner of mushrooms: puffballs scattered like popcorn; brain-shaped morels; beefsteak polypores the size of a cow's carcass; and black chanterelles looming like trumpets that blared to the sky, the smallest standing taller than her head. The light flickered, neither sunlight or moonlight; the air heavy with a bruised unhealthy pollution. Strange crackles and pips and whirs attacked the silence. Despite the clammy cold, the tiniest hairs on her arms and neck stung with electrical discharge.

She snatched her hand away from the Spike-thing, and pushed into the granite of the cliff-wall behind her. She stared at him. Shadows shifted across his face, turning his eyes into unoccupied hollows. She was finally seeing him for what he really was.

"What have you done?" She pushed at him, sick to even be touching him.

"Love. I didn't do this." His voice turned her stomach; it was scratchy and loathsome.

The electricity built inside her like a scream; the musty scent clamped onto her skin. He--It smiled at her, still trying to convince her it cared. The shadows took his smile, bisecting his face into a skull's grin. She looked around wildly. Where could she run?

"Tara. What's wrong?" It tried to look into her eyes, and she bolted.

Her feet dragged through the thick clumps of fungus, and she tumbled, bouncing on her knees. She glanced, goggle-eyed, over her shoulder to see if he'd followed her. He stood, arms wrapped around himself. She wasn't fooled.

Something sparked in her head, a small voice from deep inside. "He loves you."

Hysteria crashed against her in waves, and the static sent lightning into her lungs. She fought to listen to the small voice but pressure from within stopped up her ears.

A blinding beam of light made her throw up her arm. She blinked tears of shock away, anxious to see.

"Welcome to my mushroom, Ladies and Gents…"

Tara choked back a scream by stuffing her hands into her mouth. The spotlight-from-nowhere illuminated a perfect circle in the darkness, a caterpillar form looping across a mushroom stage, his green horned head and garish red eyes threatening her. In one its several hands, it held a microphone. She felt a white sheet of blankness pulling over her brain, and fought to stay conscious.

The caterpillar grinned, exposing impossibly white teeth. "Now there's a warm welcome."

Spike hunched down beside her, put a hand on her arm, so lightly that it tickled. "He won't hurt you, pet. Think he's a friend."

"That's the key. Talk to the girl." The caterpillar began singing.

"Communication is the problem to the answer You've got her number and your hand is on the phone"

Spike swung his head around, his own teeth naked and gleaming. "If you've got something to say, say it, Lorne. No mumbo-jumbo. No musical numbers."

"Well, they're kind of my trademark, champ. But, hey, I'm here for the audience." Lorne sniffed.

"You know what's wrong with my lady?"

Lorne moved the microphone in a circle. "I've been here a while now, and I still get a wee bit queasy when I cross the rank and file boundaries. Throw in mind-tampering by The First, and no wonder the poor lamb's losing her wool."

"Mind-tampering? Son of a bitch!" Spike forced a smile on his face when Tara scooched away on her hands. He looked back at Lorne. "You can tell that for sure?"

"Oh, The First's all over her. Didn't you notice she was acting a little strange?"

"I'm a stupid git. If she'd been talking to people who weren't there, I would have twigged. What's with the boundary thing? What can I do about that?"

"How should I know? Time and space are all wacky here. Anytime you cross from black to white you go through some kind of hyperspace field and it's tied to the earth magic and you're tied to the earth magic and The First is tied… but what to do? Beats me. I still get sick. Didn't you get any kind of instructions? Kind of standard with these quest things."

"Dru spouted some mumbo-jumbo."

"There wasn't anyone else to explain the game? General rules? Tricks of the trade?"

"JustAndrewandXander." Spike scuffed the ground.

"Watcher Andrew? Geek personified? Dungeon Master Nonpareil? And you didn't ask about games?" Lorne tossed his hands up and rolled his eyes at the sky.

"I didn't know we were supposed to be playing a bloody game, all right? Bugger off!" Spike ripped the head off an innocent mushroom.

"Well, pardon me for living--the guy who's here trying to help. What have you two been doing?" Lorne smirked. "Besides not getting to first base? Not to get personal but you lovebirds have something special together. Possibly the only thing you have going for you."

"Yeah, well. As you can see, she's not big with the loving at the moment." Spike tilted his head at Tara, and his voice softened. "I'm sorry, love. I should've realized what was happening." She stared at him, but gave no sign she heard. His voice roughened as he turned back to Lorne. "But we had figured that out--decided that love was the only thing we had. We agreed to let love guide us, and then we were here and she was like that. So what was that about?"

"I'd like to help. But I've been told to bugger off." Lorne rubbed his nails against his coat and examined them for shine.

"Right. I hurt your feelings. Sorry 'bout that. Now--answers?"

"Color me impressed. Something resembling an apology. Must be her influence."

"And it's wearing off." Spike showed his teeth again.

Lorne puffed breath from his lips. "You're back-asswards."

"And that means?"

Lorne sighed. "I'm supposed to be the love counselor. You should've got the rules of the game from the geeks, and then tripped to my part of the world, where I tell you to listen to your hearts." Lorne clasped his hands to his heart. "You figured out the wrong thing, or more importantly, didn't figure out the right thing in the time allowed, so The First got to call the move."

"There's time-limits?" Spike took a long, deep breath.

"I don't know!" Lorne made a sound of exasperation. "I'm guessing here, big shot. But you better make some decisions soon. My clue to you is 'Let your love guide you.' And that's all I've been told."

"And I told you we figured that out. Didn't do any bloody good."

Tara forced herself to touch Spike's shoulder, a glancing touch, and she pulled her fingers away as if burned. Her voice was a squeak, mouse words were coming out her mouth.

"He means…he's saying we should concentrate on what we need to know now. So we won't lose this round." She swallowed. ""But … how can I trust my love…you could be lying. You could be The First. Working for The First. Both of you." She looked at Spike and looked away.

Lorne's red gaze softened. "You are a sweetie, aren't you? No wonder Mr. Snippy there is so in love." He raised the microphone, and took a deep breath, then paused. "Poop. No singing." He scowled at Spike. "You're really grilling my grits, bubba. For you though, honey," he blew a kiss at Tara, "I'm doing what I shouldn't do. There is more to it. Let your love guide you."

Spike plopped to a sitting position, hand running through his hair. "That's it then. You spout off reams about what you don't know, and nothing when you do."

Tara swayed away from him. He was arguing again. He was trying to keep the caterpillar from giving them information. Just like always--interrupting, interfering. Soon he'd attack. She felt the static increasing, snaps of panic bursting in her brain.

He lowered his head, his eyes finding the path to her eyes, and pushed away strands of her hair. "You know I'd never hurt you? The First knows that if It gets you, I'll follow right behind. So It's trying to make you run from me to It. 'Cept I'm not going to let you go." He touched her cheek, so gently she barely felt the touch. He looked back at Lorne, revelation in his eyes.

"We figured it out." He kissed her hand, rose to his feet, and strode backwards, giving her a clear path. "We already figured it out. We do exactly what we did before. You trust me. We agree to let love guide us. You listen to your heart, and you come to me."

Spike wasn't nearly as sure as his words would indicate. Tara could see it in his eyes. He was as frightened as she was. He didn't know how she'd react. She didn't know, either.

Sounds popped in her head, ping-ping-ping. The spotlight was gone. The caterpillar was gone. The shadows marched in like an army of ants and crawled across Spike's face. If she ran, he'd catch her within moments. If she told him to go, he'd take her with him. The certainty of it was black in her heart.

She pinned her gaze where his eyes should be, searching until she found the blue.

"I'll wait here forever, love, if I need to. You come to me." Spike's words formed echoes; ghosts mocking his words, drowning the sweetness of his voice with snide menacing tones. She could use the magic. Fry him before he knew what was happening. She'd be safe then. Toast him just like she did Willow. Make his insides run like marshmallow.

She focused on Spike's words, just the words. "Love you, baby. Let yourself love me. Please."

Back at the camp. She'd snapped out of this funk back at the camp. She could do it, again. No difference. She just had to take his hand. She could melt with him with bolts of lightning.

She stood.

He talked, talked and talked. She felt her leg move, tugging at her foot as if it was pulling roots, and then replanting them a few inches away.

She panted, and her arm lifted.

The other foot moved, and then the other, and…

Free. She was free!

Tara ran to Spike, and he was holding her and she felt The First leave. Saw It in her mind, where It was leaving, where It had got in. Her brain squeezed with anger. It wouldn't be getting in again.

Spike wrapped himself around her, murmuring into her hair, as though he couldn't stop talking now. His voice was his own again, rich and smooth as cream. She floated in it.

Keeping her arms locked with his, she pulled back until she could see his face. "Let your love guide you. That's what he said. The caterpillar."

"He did. You on to something?"

"I think so. I think…it's literal. Not great philosophical love." Tara looked directly into his eyes. "I let my love --you--guide me. Followed your instructions."

"We just need to tell each other what to do? That it?" He kissed her ear.

She nodded, let her forehead fall against his chest, savored the closeness of him.

"Easy enough to test. I'm ready to blow this pop stand. Tell me to do something." Spike released her, and then hugged her again before moving away. "Your word is my command!"

Tara's mind went blank. "Ummm. Simon says take two steps back."

"Not listening to Simon."

She smiled. "Take two steps back."

Spike lifted his foot with great exaggeration; a cloud of dust puffed up when he stomped it down. He paused for effect, and stepped again. Arms out, he raised an eyebrow and waited for her next order.

The ground began to unravel beneath his feet; great gashes tearing at the earth, like arms clawing at the dirt, feeding it to whatever waited below. A great cracking sound swallowed his name when Tara screamed it.

Spike disappeared into the starving fissure.

The unraveling continued, but Tara didn't wait for it to reach her. She gathered her feet and her courage and jumped after Spike.

TBC…


	14. The Vorpal Blade 13

**Chapter 13**

Tara felt her legs stretching like rubber bands. They snapped, and her torso caught up, and she landed on Spike, her bones cracking against his. He rolled her off, and pulled her to a standing position, with one smooth motion.

They were underground. The cidery scent immediately took her back to her grandmother's root cellar. She could make out shapes-- barrels and sacks--felt cold pebbly stone against her back, and a narrow door slanted above her head. It hung ajar; a sunbeam cut into the dark like a bright blade.

"This is like one of those computer games, isn't it? We complete one level and move on the next challenge." Tara strained to see. "I don't suppose the sword is here."

"Too Easy. Stay here. Let me scope things out." Spike left her side.

Something moved, shuffling across the dirt floor to her left. It wasn't Spike making the noise. She could see his outline on the other side of the room. "Who's there?" She felt silly as soon as she asked. It could be a bear or something.

"I'm so pleased to meet you at last, my dear. I almost feel we're related. But, of course, you don't know me. Heinrich Nest, at your service."

She replied politely, straining to see. "Your name seems familiar."

"It's the Master, pet. My doddering old fart of a great grand-dad. More or less." Spike snorted. "Love the new look, Gramps."

A shadow appeared, only just darker than the others. She made out flat paddly shapes like flippers. A turtle? The image took on detail, bit by bit, as her eyes adapted; she was looking at a turtle. One standing upright like a human, its head almost human. Sharp pointed teeth gleamed dimly in its maggoty-white face. Of course, it had teeth. It was a vampire turtle.

"You hurt me, dear boy. Didn't Darla teach you more respect for your elders?" The Master shambled closer, moving with startling grace. "Her line has disappointed, by and large, but I always thought you had potential. Such passion. Why not just turn the girl? You know she'll thank you afterwards. And I'm not like Angelus. I believe in giving my subjects their due. She'd be all yours."

"Wouldn't be her, then."

"Tut. Humans like to think vampires kill them, inhabit their empty shells, and nothing of them remains. But I'm surprised that you believe anything of the kind. The human doesn't die at all; it's simply set free. Your little girl has such potential. You'd be giving her a great gift. Normally, I'd keep her for myself. But for you…"

"But for The First, more like." Spike snorted.

"Well, yes." The Master sighed. "I had hoped you'd prove reasonable. I used to relish a good fight, but then…" He blurred out of Tara's sight. "…you'll hardly provide that."

She spun to see what was happening; the Master's bulk loomed over Spike, who grunted in surprise.

Tara stared desperately into the flurry of shadows: scuffling feet, an ominous thwack, and Spike slammed past her. Crimson drops of blood swung in chains from his face, and fell splattering against his skin, and limp form.

"Spike!"

The Master chuckled. "Don't worry, my dear. I am old. Past the point of enjoying torture for the sake of torture. I'll just break him until he agrees to join with The First. Or you could do that. Save him from all that pain and suffering. Only one of you has to give in. It doesn't really matter which of you it is." The Master ambled around her, showing no sign of his supernatural speed. "I envy you really. I'll occupy a high position in The First's army, but you'll reign by his side. I'll have to hope you don't hold a grudge, won't I."

Tara worked her way along the wall. She had a hunch about the workings of the game. This place reminded her mightily of Grandma's root cellar, so maybe it was Grandma's root cellar. And Grandma kept … Her hand encountered a long, thin and wooden something. A rake.She looked up at the monster. He was prodding at Spike with one of his heavy flippers. He paid no attention to Tara at all.

"I would have thought living with Darla and Angelus would have produced a thicker skull. Must be the soul."

Picking up the rake, Tara considered what she thought she knew. The environment should be even ground--as potentially dangerous to the bad guys as to Spike and Tara. Perhaps the advantage lay in knowing the environment. She looked at the object in her hands and wondered if it could possibly be this easy. There were a dozen ways she could be wrong but really what choice did she have?

Spike groaned. The Master clouted him with brutal force. Tara cranked her arm back, throwing her torso into the movement, and shoved the handle with every atom of strength she had—up into the cellar door, praying it wasn't chained shut, praying it wasn't too heavy, praying she hadn't guessed wrong about the nature of vampire turtles in Wonderland.

Worried about Tara at last, the Master swung around. "What are you doing?"

The door screeched open, a chorus to herald the arrival of the sun. Light blasted through with all the glory of midsummer, and the Master's words echoed: He was sudden ash dancing in the sun. His turtle shell hung empty, suspended for long moments. It thudded to the ground, and rocked wildly.

"How'd you guess?" Spike slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, propped up on one hand, and examined the other in the sunlight. "Didn't think the sun affected vampires here."

"I don't think it has to do with vampirism. The shell is beautiful; he wasn't; you are. Beauty is something other than skin deep here." She ghosted her hand over his cheek. He pulled back and her brow folded in concern. "How bad is it?"

Spike caught her hand and pushed it away. "It's nothing I don't deserve."

Tara was shocked at the bitterness in his tone. "How were you supposed to know how fast he was? He seemed so…so…turtle."

"I let him get the drop on me! Knew he was old and powerful, and I still wasn't on guard. Just like when Buffy…I screwed up and she died. Same as you could have. I'm supposed to be the hero, not the damsel in distress."

"Well, that was totally sexist." She smiled, hoping for one in return.

He glared at her.

"You've already saved the damsel. It was my turn." She sobered. "I think The First is deliberately using our past traumas. My craziness. Your…mistake. Get over it, Spike, or you give It an advantage." She kissed the top of his head, softening the impact of her words.

Spike nodded.

She stood the shell on its end. "We're meant to have this. Like treasure we've won."

He examined the scutes. "Looks like Hawksbill--real tortoiseshell. Be awkward to carry, though."

"I think it's for you. Maybe you'll need it as a shield."

"Doubt it's strong enough. Anyway, it was you that won it."

"Doubt winning's the issue." She mocked his accent, tilted the shell toward him. He placed his hands on hers, leaning over to kiss her.

Tara felt the tingle through her lips. Magic!

She jerked her hands out from under his, and tottered back. Spike stood frozen.

The shell lost its shape, its solidity, becoming fluid, forming shoots. They wove around his hands, skimmed along his arms in lace work patterns, glided over his shoulders, crept down his back; they wrapped around his waist, and traveled down his thighs, reached his feet and flattened. Round discs formed, firmed, solidified in his shape.

Released from whatever held him, he shuddered and crashed to his knees, sucking in great breaths.

Tara threw her arms around him then pulled back to examine him. His eyes were a stunned blue, the pupils the merest of pinpoints.

"Not exactly the thrill I was hoping for but…damn. Was that our magic, or the shell's?"

"I didn't feel the power coming through me. This is part of the game." She put a hand on her hip, and propped her chin in the other, tapping her lips with a thoughtful finger. "Your suit of armor suits you, sir."

He studied his arms. The discs were small, woven together like intricate chain mail. It clung to him in a single form-fitting piece except for gloves and boots. "Have no idea how I'll get this off…what are you looking at."

Tara jumped. "What. Nothing."

Spike made a sound of disbelief, head cocked. "You were checking out my crotch, Miss MacClay."

"No! Okay … yes. I was just wondering. Padding like superhero costumes: Or chain links like armor?"

His eyes widened, and his gaze shot downward. The tortoiseshell followed each curve, and every bend and fold of his body. "Son of a bitch."

She giggled and touched the armor. "Feels more like leather than mail. You'll be able to walk, but I don't think there's much _give_. Heroes are expected to be pure of thought and deed, I guess."

"So, this isn't armor. It's some kind of bloody chastity belt!"

"It's your punishment for mocking Andrew."

Spike made a face at her.

"We should go. This," Tara ran her fingers down his arm, "is going to be needed for something. And I don't think it's a chastity belt. The sooner we find out."

"The sooner I'll get this thing off." He bowed toward the stairs. "After you."

"Oh no. After you." She stepped aside.

"You want to check out my bum, don't you?" Spike looked at Tara as though wondering who she was.  
"One of us might as well have fun."

"I remember you surprising me on occasion; Willow's shy girlfriend tossing out a zinger. Didn't think much about it at the time. But you're going to be surprising me a lot aren't you?" Spike's eyes narrowed.

"Yep. You are now dealing with fully adult, non-mind-controlled Tara McClay. Who is only a prig when it comes to dealing with other's pain."

"You're causing me pain."

"Yeah, but you like it." Tara sniggered. "Up those stairs, Mister."

He jumped the stairs as one, pausing at the entrance to waggle his rear, before moving through the door.

Tara saw his silhouette against the sunlight, and then he disappeared.

She scrambled upward; hustling to join him and the disorientation of hyperspace stretched at her brain.

Black particles invaded her nose, and she sneezed. And sneezed and sneezed. Her nose clotted up, and tears poured down her chin. Faintly over the sound of her own expulsions, she heard Spike sneezing and cursing, as well.

Pepper? They were being attacked with pepper?


	15. The Vorpal Blade 14

Idecided to post a day early since so many will be busy with mothers-day tomorrow. Happy Mother's Day to all of you hiding out there.

Thanks to sexymermaid and bogwitch for the beta.

**Chapter 14**

Tara wiped at the tears and snot that streaked her face, locating Spike by the sound of his cursing. Only a few feet away, he still sneezed even though the pepper had settled.

They were in a kitchen, large, comfy, with pine and oak furniture, counters piled with apples and pears and jars of herbs and spice. The aroma of warm apple pie battled with the stringent scent of pepper. Anya, in a cook's uniform, hovered by the fireplace, a ladle in one hand, a canister in the other. Another woman sat at a table. A blanket-wrapped bundle wriggled in the woman's arms, and she shook it with vigor.

"Stop that! You'll hurt the poor thing." Tara paused. She didn't want to play tug-of-war with an infant as the tuggee.

"I told you pepper wouldn't stop that annoying little beast from crying." Anya ignored Spike and Tara, and wagged a finger at the other woman. "What kind of mother are you to think it would?"

"Yo! I meant rub it on his gums, not throw it in his face! And I never wanted to be a mother. Queen Walsh insisted." The woman shook her offspring again. His squeals were sharp enough to stab Tara's eardrums.

"Careful with that baby!" Spike's eyebrows bunched. "You good Faith or bad Faith, now?"

"That depends on you, bub. I can only be good if someone has faith in me. Get it"  
Tara recognized Faith's aura now. A slayer and a vengeance demon. She and Spike were outclassed.

Anya prattled on, "Pepper just inflames. Throw it, rub it in, doesn't matter. It's not the answer, believe me. I once trapped a man in a pepper factory. He sneezed til his eyes bled but not once did he say his gums felt better. The only practical way to ease teething is to pull the teeth! I've got some tongs here somewhere that should do the job."

"Anya!" Tara shoved her hands toward Faith. "Give me that child." Just let either of them try _that _plan. She didn't care how powerful they were.

"Five by five! Someone who cares. All this family stuff is a drag. The Mayor was cool as a Dad—gave me that killer knife—but then I get stabbed with it. I get a baby and all it does is squeal. Here. You're his mom, now." Faith thrust the baby carelessly into Tara's arms.

"Careful!" Tara fought to hold on; the baby performed impossible gyrations. "Oh, his bonnet's covering his face. The poor thing can't breathe!"

Faith headed for the archway between the kitchen and the hall. "Well if there's such a bee in your bonnet just keep it! I've gotta go. It's been a slice." She sneezed and sniffed, and swept out of the room.

Spike grabbed the baby with firm hands. Quickly, Tara untied the straps, and let the bonnet fall to the floor. Squinty little eyes glowered up at her; a soft pink snout wiffled at her. A pig! Tara understood the teething problem. Tiny tusks protruded through his upper lip. He squealed, twisting again, and a tusk slashed across her arm.

"Ow." She jerked her arm away, and the pig squiggled free. He thumped to the floor, head first, and tottered toward the open doorway.

"See. I told you it was best to pull the teeth. But does anyone ever listen to me?" Anya agitated the pepper canister, and followed the pig. "Get back here, you pugnacious little pork chop. I haven't cooked dinner, yet." The pork squealed in disapproval. He flew outside, Anya hot on his heels. They watched the wild chase in bemusement, the screeching and screaming audible long after Anya and the pig disappeared from sight.

Tara looked at Spike, and they erupted into laughter.

He examined her wound. "Doesn't look too bad. Bet it hurts, though."

"Not much. I don't know this place. Is this somewhere from your past"  
"My...?" He looked around in puzzlement. "Never been here before."

"I was so sure. We figured things out in the mushroomy place and ended up in Grandma's root cellar. I thought the same thing would happen this time."

He shrugged. "Maybe it only works once. We got the armor instead."

Tara examined the gash on her arm. "Do you think we lost points because of this? Anya warned us after a fashion."

"Both acted like they didn't know us. Never knew Faith that well, but Anya…" He shuffled uneasily, "I knew her well enough. They were giving us clues. Preferred Lorne's style."

"We're supposed to keep the bonnet. That's the only thing I'm sure of."

"Well, you pick it up. My luck, I'd find myself in a maid's uniform."

Tara eyed him from under lowered lids, and one side of her mouth curled up in a slow smile.

"No." Spike produced a slow grin of his own. "Not that I'm adverse to dress up, mind you. But you've got the better legs."

"I want something more exciting. Like Wonder Woman's outfit. Her golden lasso would come in handy." She grinned at Spike's growl of approval. After a moment's hesitation, she picked the bonnet off the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

"Last time, we kissed." He waggled his eyebrows, and stepped closer to her.  
Her breath caught in her throat, but she quashed the feeling of anticipation that swelled inside. Her brow crumpled in apology. "I know. And that's why we need to not kiss now. If the magic's part of the game that's one thing. But our magic's too dangerous to play around with."

Spike's expression resembled that of a man who'd been slapped. "You keep shying away from it, pet, but you know we'll have to use it sooner or later. Pretty much the nature of things—whatever you're most afraid of you have to face."

"I killed Willow with that magic."

"Willow killed Willow. She just used you to do it. Wasn't you and wasn't the magic."

She shook her head. "It's not safe."

"Safe." He spat the word. "The magic's there whether it's safe or not." Spike touched Tara's face. "The magic's _us_. What we have between us. If you can't deal then we have nothing."

"If the magic is all we have, then it isn't love."

"Both parts of the same thing. Can't separate one from the other."

"Now, Spike." A man stood leaning against the hallway arch, dapper in a black suit and yellow shirt. Tara recognized him from newspaper accounts in Giles' journals.

Mayor Wilkins smiled. "The young lady's just being proper. I know that's difficult for a strong young vampire such as yourself, to respect. But a marriage is always stronger when a couple have saved themselves for that special night. And after all, I'm sure you'll want Tara to wear white at your wedding."

TBC…


	16. The Vorpal Blade 15

I'm not sure whether I'll have online access this next week, so I'm posting this early, and probably won't be posting another chapter until early in June. I didn't have time to do an image and I'll add one in later. Have a great week everyone! 

**Warning**: Insect alert.

Thanks to bogwitch and sexymermaid for the betas. I did some extra tinkering after though, so any mistakes are ones I added.

**Chapter** **15**

Mayor Wilkins laughed infectiously and straightened. "Look at me. Leaning against the wall like a kid. Bad posture encourages bad habits." He entered the kitchen. "I was watching you two with that baby. It was a pig, sure, but you were acting like real parents."

He looked around the kitchen, took an appreciative sniff of the applesauce, and then sneezed. "A place like this would be great for raising kids." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose. "I know. You're thinking--but what kind of world would we be bringing them into? What parent doesn't think that? But what a chance you have here. You bring your kids up right, teach them strong morals, discipline. Why, then they'd go out and spread that kind of thinking across entire dimensions." He rolled the handkerchief into a ball, and lobbed it into the fireplace.

"Spike and I aren't likely to be married or have children." Tara refused to look at Spike. "And strong morals are nothing without compassion. Discipline's a weak substitute for love."

The Mayor's smile softened. "You remind me of the late Mrs. Wilkins." He chuckled faintly, his expression laced with nostalgia. "There won't ever be anyone to replace her. And I can tell you and Spike have that lasting kind of love. You're meant for each other. But it's so easy to let things to get in the way. I didn't understand that for a long time, and once I did it was too late. Hate to see that happen to such a nice young couple like you."

She could see Spike's muscles tensing beneath the armor. "Don't need _Advice to the Lovelorn_, mate."

"Stubborn. Well, children who won't listen have to learn the hard way." The Mayor did a two-step, chanting, "Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there…", and he disappeared from her sight. She gasped as an arm wrapped around her waist, and pulled her away from Spike. The Mayor laughed at her kicks and wiggles and thumping fists.

"Now, Spike." He threw up a cautioning hand, keeping Tara between them. "Don't make me do something we'll both regret." The Mayor's laugh echoed in her ears. He wrapped a hand over Tara's mouth, pushing her head back, and cutting off her breath. "See, death is The First's thing, but I prefer to resolve things without violence. I mean what kind of message does that send you?" His voice took on an edge. "But I _will_ kill her if neither of you listens to reason."

"You won't last two seconds longer than she does." Spike's gameface emerged.

"The only thing that matters is Tara, right? Just agree to be her spouse and father her children, and you can both be happy together-- forever. Don't be a fool. You only have to agree to do what you want to do anyway. It's a win-win situation. Honestly."

Spike stopped in his tracks, his face melting back to human. He shook his head. "Wouldn't either of us be _us_ if we agreed. Price is too high."

"A vampire that worries about metaphysical price-tags. What'll they think of next?" The Mayor's grip loosened, and Tara twisted her arm loose, grabbing for one of his fingers, and bending it back until she heard it crack. He made a sound of pain and she stumbled as he disappeared again. He appeared to her left, laughing. "Fiesty." He nursed the finger and faded as Spike jumped at him.

"Don't you just love this now-I'm-here, now-I'm not? It is the niftiest tri…" The Mayor slammed against the wall, as Spike met him with a solid sock to the jaw.

"Vampire, as you pointed out. Got your stink in my nose."

The Mayor made a face of disgust. "That's just crude. Well, drat. You're limiting my options, here." He erupted with laughter, and his body shook: his face bulged, bubbling like water coming to a boil; his body snapped forward at the waist; segmented limbs ripped through his suit; his thorax thickened; his waist thinned; and his once-human legs pushed upward to flatten and flutter into wings.

Tara gagged and she threw her hands to her mouth.

Spike shoved her; the man-size wasp slugged past like a giant fist, the whoosh tugging at her hair and clothes. She hadn't seen the insect move.Spike rolled her beneath a table in the corner, and they hugged up against the wall.

"The Mayor turned into a giant snake!" she protested. "Not a giant bug."

The wasp landed on the table, feet pattering against the wood above them. Its wings buzzed, hypnotically

"What's it doing?" Spike shoved a fist against the tabletop and the wasp froze. She found the silence frightening and was relieved when the pattering started again.

"He's supposed to be a snake," she insisted.

"Let it go, love. He's a bloody wasp. Big but…" He thunked a fist against the table again. "Male, so no stinger. Fast, but I'm more than a match for a bug, oversized or not. Am I missing anything?"

"Yes. It's got those sideways teeth thingies." She moved her fingers like insect jaws.

Spike mimicked the motion. "Yeah. 'Cause in the flicks, monster bugs always get you with those." The table cracked and the sideways teeth thingies tore through, spitting out chunks of table. Mandibles, Tara remembered: The sideways things were called mandibles.

"Bloody hell." They scrambled from underneath the collapsing table and Spike pushed Tara across the floor. She felt the friction tearing at her knees.

The wasp shook itself, an oily liquid cascading from its jaws. She stared at the drops splattering on the stone paving. They hissed, and popped, and an ugly wound formed. Black foam bubbled, eating a cavity into the stone.

She forced herself to look back at the wasp. Black, velvety bubbles beaded along the mandibles."He's venomous!"

"Got it, sweet pea. The armor's good. Just stay out of the way."

Scorch marks streaked across Spike's chest. The tortoiseshell was pitted, but she couldn't see foam. If Spike hadn't been wearing the armor--she looked back to the floor. The black cavity was twice as large, and still growing.

"Get under something, Tara. Now."

She pushed her way behind a china cabinet and ran her hand along the wall, the back of the cabinet, moved her foot along the floor. Nothing useable as a weapon. Goosebumps traveled down her spine. A horrible sound--grinding, crunching, scraping—etched into her ears. She peered out. Spike thrashed in the wasp's jaws. He rammed his fist into one of the compound eyes, and black venomous ichor sprayed across his arm.

The wasp dropped him, and hopped like a maddened kangaroo, careening against the wall. She heard a pop, and one of the mandibles drooped.

Spike huddled on the floor. Fine hairline sprays flowered on his tortoiseshell armor, nesting on dark pitted stains. The wasp's head convulsed up and down, jaws clacking, working the venom into ropes.

To Tara's horror, both of the horrendous eyes were in perfect condition. Spike lunged upward, slamming his fists like a club against the broken mandible. The wasp reared back, legs wheeling furiously but Spike stayed close, like a dancing partner, following each twist and turn the wasp made. He wrenched his weapon free, and stabbed again and again.

He was thrown from the body as it arched backward: wasp head met wasp abdomen, muscles spasmed; wings thrummed, and the body collapsed. It shimmered and the Mayor's human body sprawled where the wasp had been, head crushed, brains spilling to the floor.

"Are you all right?"Tara pulled her gaze from the body, and turned to Spike. The armor's magic had kept his skin free of the venom, but pinkish-grey blisters, from the fumes, puffed around his neck and face.

"Fine. Where's that bonnet?" He slammed the mandible against the wall, breaking off a portion. "Quick, love. Going to pull my glove around this bit. Want you to tie it up."

She nodded. The tortoiseshell from the Master, venom from the Mayor. A pattern. She searched and found the bonnet where it lay on the floor.

He held the inverted glove toward her."You know how to tie a good knot?"

"I'm a wiccan, and a farm girl. I can tie a knot." She tied the strings, using the bonnet as a cradle, and tied a second loop so the whole could be carried without touching the glove.

The bonnet showed signs of discoloration. She wondered if the glove's magic would last. Maybe the tortoiseshell was only meant to protect Spike, and now he'd taken it off the venom would eat through it.

A sound made her turn, and then everything juddered into the familiar sensation of hyperspace travel. Her brain processed what she'd seen before the jump. The Mayor transforming once more, his wasp shape whole and gleaming. He was looking in her direction, clacking his perfectly formed mandibles.

"Oh goddess! I don't think we killed the Mayor! We didn't accomplish what we were supposed to."

Spike didn't answer. She looked up and followed his gaze. They stood on a wide, dirt road, lined with hedges on one side, and a broad stone wall on the other. An odd, egg-shaped figure sat solidly atop the wall.

"I've been waiting for you," the figure said.

"Humpty-Dumpty," Tara whispered.

"Adam," Spike replied.

TBC…


	17. The Vorpal Blade 16

Thanks to Bogwitch and Sexymermaid for the betas.

**Chapter 16**

Tara ransacked her mind for facts about Adam. Giles had shown her sketches but they hardly prepared her for his appearance now. His shape was marred by the roughness where human met demon, where machine protruded from flesh, where his body was a cartoon mockery. He was marvel of science: man, machine and egg.

His bizarre appearance didn't fool her, but she'd let it take up her attention. She made herself listen to what he was saying.

"I'm surprised that The First has chosen you for the father of his race, Spike. I found you rather disappointing. No matter, though. Your children will be soldiers in an empire that spans time and space, and my vision of a logical order will be realized. Mother's concept was flawed. We attempted to incorporate three imperfect elements into one perfect whole. The process failed to erase all existing inefficiencies. Whereas your children will be born perfect, a genetic integration of man, demon, and the mechanistic organisms of Wonderland. Through the two of you, and the magic that links you, The First will create life. You are being given the chance to rise above your own capabilities, to become more than man, more than vampire, like unto a …"

"God. You're still full of it." Muscles worked in Spike's cheek. "Reckon The First better watch out, 'cause you'll be looking to run the show."

"You misunderstand. I will run the show. The First will have no desire to direct the day-to-day affairs of this world."

Spike snickered. "How about I do a little fortune-telling, seeing as how I remember the future? The First already has a General and a hellmouth full of toothy killer vamps back in our world. I give them all a nasty bit of sunburn, The First rabbits off to Its hidey-hole, and the world is safe for puppies and kittens, again." He sniffed. "This whole Susie Homemaker bollocks is meant to keep me here instead, happy and humping, while The First has his way back home. That makes _you_ a glorified baby-sitter, changing nappies for Its second string."

"Interesting. Divide and conquer." Adam studied Spike intently. " Poorly conceived, as I would expect from you. Your surmise may indeed be correct. The First has vast resources. Why should It be satisfied with one world, one army, one plan?" Adam bared his teeth in a quick smile. "I appreciate the information, however. I'll be sure to use it to my advantage."

Tara averted her face, hoping that neither Spike nor Adam had noticed her expression. Spike remembered the future. Her future. That hadn't fully occurred to her until now. He knew the reality that would be replaced if they got back home.

Adam heaved himself to his feet, and Tara jumped. Now wasn't the time to worry about the future.

"Spike. Tara." Adam began pacing on top of the wall. "We do not need your active intelligence, merely your bodies. Nothing truly dies here, but death does produce change, and we can simply kill you over and over, until you are changed enough to suit our purposes. If you choose to join us voluntarily, however, I believe The First will be amenable, and allow you to keep your current lives, as well as your personalities." He stopped and faced them. "This is a one-time offer."

Spike looked at Tara for affirmation. She nodded, taking his hand, and he took a deep breath. "Kind of you, but we'll pass."

"I thought that would be your choice."

Adam launched himself from the wall. He jetted upward like a cannonball, arcing through the air, and he bounced.

"Okay." Spike said, his eyes wide. "That's something new for Humpty."

"Yes." Adam landed on the road. "Not the King's horses, but all the Queen's men _were_ able to put Humpty together again. Into a far superior egg as you can see. I am indestructible." He bounced again, toward Spike.

"Pet, you ready?" Spike backpedaled, drawing Adam to her.

She lifted the bonnet, and saw the stains and fraying thread where the venom had worked through. Good. She'd been right. The tortoiseshell's magic lost potency away from Spike. Her glove bomb would go splat like a water balloon.

Adam advanced on her, his face filling her vision: his eyes black holes; his teeth slabs of stone; the irregular meeting of flesh and machine, a mountain ridge formed on a primordial plain.

Racing to meet him, she swung the bonnet-wrapped glove against his cheek, and the venom splurted free. Adam roared. Tara screamed as pain jetted across her arm. Spike grabbed her beneath the armpits, and boosted her clear as Adam bulleted through the dirt, attempting to scour the venom away.

Her hand clamped down on Spike's shoulder. She convulsed with pain, biting her tongue, and blood pooled in her mouth.

Spike examined the arm with care. "S'alright, love. Just the fumes. Hurts like a bitch, I know." He pulled her tight and she thrust her face against his neck, closed her eyes, and concentrated on him, his scent, the firmness of his body. Shock ran through her when he shoved her behind him.

"Fools. I may have miscalculated my vulnerability, but you also miscalculate yours." Adam no longer had a face: just metal, scarred and pitted; flesh and muscle hanging like meat from blackened bone. His voice bubbled up from deep in his throat.

Venom formed trenches in his chest, new channels forming as Tara watched.

Spike sneered. "You're talking the talk, but you're walking dead. Just got to wait for the venom to finish you off."

"You are correct. But I can still kill you before I die." Adam bounced over Spike's head. He landed and his shell cracked, the top of him shearing away from the bottom. A black mess slopped over, and his shape lost all cohesion, imploding into a pile of seething shell and fluid. The ground sputtered around his remains.

Tara sucked in a deep breath, as much sob as sigh. Her arm flamed. She dropped her head against Spike's shoulder, allowing herself just a moment, and then pulled herself straight. "Okay. I'm ready. What's left of Adam?"

"Wouldn't think anything."

"There has to be. We get something from each opponent. We have to." She took his hand, and pulled him with her over to the charred ground and black muck that had been Adam.

He made a scornful sound and kicked dirt over the mess. "Nothing here but fluid."

Tara clutched her arm, trying to ignore the pain. The rules kept changing. She wanted to forget the quest. Wanted Spike to hold her. "We've never really talked about the Vorpal Blade for some reason. We're on this quest, and we don't even know why we need this particular sword."

Spike shrugged. "It's a sword. The First doesn't want us to have it, and that's enough for me."

She hesitated, and danced around the question she really wanted to ask. "What happens if we get it?"

"I kill the Jabberwock, and The First loses his physical contact with Wonderland, I suppose. Everyone here goes back to being chess soldiers and whatnot…eventually. And we go home."

"And?"

Spike looked away. "And we do the happy ever after."

"Oh. Good. Because…The Master, and the Mayor, and Adam? They all talked about dying, and I got the strangest feeling. You'd tell me if I was dead, wouldn't you? Back in the other world?"

Tara put her hand to Spike's face, attempting to sooth his stricken expression. He seemed to be taking the idea harder than she was, and that confirmed her impression. "It's all right, Spike. I'm not afraid of dying. I just need to know. It's true? I'm dead?"

His mouth pinched around his response. "No."

He stepped closer to Tara, putting his hands on her shoulders. Face solemn, his lashes drooped down, framing the blue intensity of his eyes; it was the face of a man about to kiss a woman. She tilted her head back, and met him halfway.

Their lips ghosted against one another, brushing across as though measuring width and breadth. Spike took her lower lip gently between his teeth. His growl vibrated down her body, stiffening the tips of her breasts, intensifying the throbbing between her thighs. He released her and their mouths locked together. The kiss was harder than she was used to, aggressive, verging on painful. Spike moved; shoulders twisting, muscles flexing, stomach rubbing against hers; he lifted on his feet and came down, altering the angle and thrust of the kiss; his tongue swept, and probed, and tasted. His hands slid along her arms, her breasts, cupped her bottom.

She decided she liked it, and met him with aggressiveness of her own. Scraping her teeth across his tongue, she wrapped her hands around the base of his head, holding him still, and taking the kiss for her own. He broke free and their heads twisted and bobbed and Tara wasn't sure if this was fighting or making love. She supposed for Spike both were the same, in a way. She liked it.

Heat rose in her face, and body, and melted thought until sensation was everything. The armor did have give, and her hands explored fearlessly, learning the shape and length of this male body.

Sound without and sound within became one: the wet suction of lips, the velvety shush of her tunic sliding against his armor, the pulsation of her blood.

The pressure from her own heat expanded inside her like steam.

And the earth magic came boiling up into her brain, smashing its way through the barrier she'd set against The First, and they were linked.

She felt tiny.

His passion was animal. She'd thought the kiss a fight, and to him it was a devouring. She'd seen the stars inside him, controlled the earth magic with him, touched the darkness of him but now it surrounded her. Ravenous bloodlust, rampant fury, destruction, carnage, death, rage, hate, love, hate, love…

Tara hammered at his chest, shoved at him. His hold tightened, and she thrashed in his arms, afraid he wouldn't let go. The earth magic was a rock; he was a hard place, and she couldn't tell which was more frightening. She felt Spike's presence shoving through her mind, slamming the link shut, and pain ripped through her head, leaving numbness in its wake. She wondered if he'd destroyed that part of her brain.

He pulled free, releasing body and mind, his face stony. "Bit too much, am I?"

She struggled to form words. How had he moved from such passion to such cool civility so quickly? She'd felt how wild he was. She'd felt it!

His face twisted. "Wouldn't have hurt you."

"I…it wasn't you. The magic. You know how I feel about the magic." She blushed.

"You saying that for me, or for yourself?"

Her mouth worked. "It's too dangerous. Evil."

Spike smiled, sourly. "Like me." He moved his face close to hers. "You enjoy the heat, but you back off soon as you feel the burn. News, love. This all seems like a game but the bad guys aren't playing, and we will need that magic. You think we're just searching for some Holy Grail object? Find the sword, kill the dragon, and everything's happy in la-la land?" Spike waggled his fingers at his head. " I remember the mish-mash The First made with my brains. If we lose here, we will be _zombies_. Meat-puppets. I've been trusting you. Letting you call the shots but you aren't being honest anymore. You're running scared from the only real weapon we have."

"Honest. That's funny coming from you. I'm not dead back home? Honestly?"

"You're trying to change the subject."

"And what were you just doing?" A flush of anger refreshed Tara's blush. "You weren't trying to distract the little lady with a little hubba-hubba?"

Spike rubbed at his forehead and she waited patiently. Let him deny it.

"I wasn't there." His voice was so low she could barely hear him.  
Tara shook her head in confusion.

"When you die. Wasn't the spell. Happens later." He paused as if searching for words. "I was off getting all soul-having. When I came back you were … gone. Nobody ever told me much, except Willow went Darth Vader. I wasn't there." His voice rose, speeded up. "This time I will be. Got my soul already, haven't I? And I'll be there, and you won't die." He glared at her, as if hoping to frighten her into believing his assurance.

Her anger faded. "It's all right. That part's all right. Dying's just part of living. At least, in the real world."

"Wouldn't know about that, would I?"

She hesitated, trying to understand her own feelings well enough to explain them. "The magic does scare me, and you…you're both so powerful."

"I can control myself, love."

"I know. It isn't you. It's me." She threw a hand up to stop his interruption. "We've been changed somehow. I might have learned to love you, but I couldn't have lusted for you—not back in Sunnydale. And you. You were all about Buffy."

Spike's voice was hoarse. "We were children. Like growing up all over again. Didn't follow in the same footsteps."

Tara shook her head. "No. You know it had to be more than that. The…the second childhood was just the way the changes were integrated." She placed her hands around his.

He looked at her with weary eyes. "When Buffy treated me like a man, it always made me feel like I could be something more, something grand. I love her for it, and loving you hasn't changed that. But you make me feel like I _am_ something grand. S'pose I've been fooling myself, though. Why would you want someone like me?"

"Don't make this into a self-hatred thing." Tara sighed. She just wasn't good at explaining. "I don't regret loving _you_ for an instant. Love is love. When you give your heart, it doesn't matter who you give it to." She felt herself trembling. "We've been changed without a choice, and we don't know where it will end. I liked who I was, Spike. How do I know I'll like who I've become? How can I trust myself with the power of the magic…or the power of you?"

He took a sharp breath, pulling his hand free, and used it to point. "Look's like time is up for all things philosophical, love."

Something large and wasp-shaped zipped through the sky. It seemed to grow in size even as she watched, an illusion created by its speed.

The Mayor.

Spike gestured toward Adam's remains. "See that? Don't know what it is but it wasn't there a moment ago." He worried at a piece of his armor, where the venom had frayed it. "Might be the weapon you were looking for."

Tara's heart beat faster. "I can see eggshell reforming." She grabbed at Spike. "What if Adam turns whole when you're standing in the middle of him?"

Spike stepped into the mess. "Guess the yolk'll be on me, then." He smiled. "No choice, pet."

Venom sizzled against Spike's boots.

"Tin man's heart." Spike held the object so she could see it throbbing in the slow, rhythmic pulse of a heart. A ring protruded from the top, attached to a pin. Tin man's heart, indeed. A living grenade.

"So. Nice evening for some fireworks." Spike's voice was thin, all the warmth and color of it absorbed by the buzzing of wings. The sound vibrated in her ears, made them itch.

She shook her head. "Come out of there first. Let's get away from the venom."

"No time." He pulled the pin, and cocked back his arm. "Run."

The Mayor's wings shuddered violently; the heart looping through the air. Tara watched, struck with the fancy that her heart beat in rhythm with the grenade. _Ka-thump._ Spike was too close. _Ka-thump_. Too close. _Ka-thump_.

Too close.

She never heard the explosion, never saw it. Just felt the heat pulsating through her as if she were being microwaved.

TBC…


	18. The Vorpal Blade 17

Thanks to bogwitch and sexymermaid for the betas.

**Chapter 17**

_Ka-thump, Ka-thump, Ka-thump._

"Willow, I had the strangest dream." Tara giggled, wrapping her lover's arm in her own.

"Oh, tell." Willow's nose squiggled up the way it always did when she smiled.

Tara blushed, and avoided Willow's eyes. "Well, Spike was here…"

Willow pulled herself up. "Here. As in our bedroom here?"

"Yep. I was lying in bed, and you and Spike were…naked. Ummm…me, too. You were standing right there, side by side, showing me your tushes. Like they were pears." Tara made squeezing motions as though testing for firmness. "So I could compare them." She snorted at Willow's expression, a jaw-hanging, eyes-wide, get-out-of-here face.

"And my butt was far superior. Right?" Willow said, shaking her head 'yes'.

"Oh, of course. Absolutely. Though for a man's butt, Spike has a very nice one. Not that I've seen many men's…any men's butts. You know, just pictures." Tara cleared her throat. "But his butt…"

"But his butt. That's funny." Willow gurgled. "Go on."

"Here's the really strange thing. I just wanted to bite into it. His butt. Just sink my fangs right in." Tara laughed at the notion.

"You should have done it then. Spike likes that."

Tara jerked, gaping at Willow. But Willow was gone, their bedroom was gone, and Tara was standing in a forest, so shaded that White Queen Drusilla wouldn't have had to worry about sunlight, even if this were the real world.

Staring into Tara's eyes, Drusilla ran her fingers along Tara's arm. "You've such dull teeth, but Spike wouldn't mind at all. We could share."

Drusilla's rouged lips filled Tara's vision--soft, pink tongue, porcelain teeth. Her body felt drenched in honey, sleepy and heavy; even as her mind fizzed, crackling like a Fourth of July sparkler. Drusilla's aura curled and shifted around Tara, a kiss of black smoke.

In Tara's hypnotic haze, image was reality, and she formed an image: herself in Drusilla's grasp, arms caught tight. Tara yanked her arms free.

The image altered: ghostly fangs snapped, a cobra swallowing a small bird headfirst. The bird's wings fluttered.

The image altered: a fist shattered the fangs, then smashed the cobra's skull. Blood and bone splattered.

Tara was free, shaking from the violence of her own imagery.

Drusilla stared, her face that of a two-year old, slapped for taking food from someone else's plate. Tara found herself wanting to kiss and make it better. Drusilla's mind held no malice, only the amoral cunning of a cat, and the playfulness of a child. Most frightening of all, she would have devoured Tara, torn her throat away, sucked up every last drop of her blood, and done so with joy. After, she would have genuinely mourned Tara's death without feeling a shred of guilt.

With that realization, Tara understood with perfect clarity why Spike had loved this woman. She understood, as well, why the sun in Wonderland had no power over her. A force of nature might be deadly, but it was beautiful.

Seeming to read her mind, Drusilla's eyes grew sly, and she leered in a manner meant to enchant in another way, entirely. Tara shuddered but she was attracted.

Drusilla crooned, "I promise I won't be jealous of either you or Spike. The First has promised to change everything, everything that is and was and will be. We'll be a family, and have such lovely parties." Drusilla stared at Tara with terrible longing. "I'll hold the little babies, and give them their tea. They'll call me Auntie." A hint of shy pride crept into her expression. "My own dollies call me ma-ma, but you may call me Dru. I'll show you the games that Darla and I used to play. We made our boys _hop_!"

Tara shook her head. "I'm afraid _I_ would be jealous. And then we couldn't be friends."

"Would you scratch out my eyes?" Dru made slicing motions in the air. "And then kiss them, and make them better?" She placed a hand against Tara's heart. "Such a pretty song it sings. _Ka-thump, Ka-thump, Ka-thump."_

Tara tried to ignore the cold imprint of Drusilla's hand. She swallowed, clearing her throat. Dru lived backwards in time. She would know things. "Am I dead, now?"

Dru nodded 'yes'. Her hand slithered further down.

Tara sucked in a trembly breath, and stopped the questing hand. Dru smiled and whispered, "I'm very good at comforting, you know. I can tweak and twist until you scream with pleasure, and even dying is better than the pain. And you wouldn't have to worry about that nasty magic. I'll protect you from The Jabberwock."

"Will you help Spike find The Vorpal Blade?"

"If he's a good boy, I might try. But why won't you help? He runs away from me." Dru blew the head from a dandelion. "Just like that."

Tara blinked. "If I'm dead, I won't be able to."

Dru looked at her with surprise. "Have you already died before?"

"I'm…" Tara shook her head. "You said I was dead."

Dru nodded her head vigorously in agreement. "I'm very certain you are sooner or later."

Tara took a deep breath. "I didn't ask the question correctly, did I?"

"Obviously not." Dru arched her eyebrow in a look that questioned Tara's intelligence. "I can't understand what you're on about."

"Was I killed in the explosion?"

Dru's eyes lit up. "Was there an explosion? Tell me all about it." She plumped herself down, and patted the ground beside herself, inviting Tara to sit. "Were there fireworks? And showers of blood? Was the sky full of fingers, and little bits of bodies?"

Tara rethought her earlier attraction to Dru, and everything she'd ever believed about Spike and impatience.

"No flying fingers." Tara held up her hands and wiggled hers. "All there. Can you tell me anything about the Vorpal Blade? What it is?"

Dru gave her the incredulous look again. "It's a sword."

"Yes. But what makes it special? Why do we need to find it?"

"Because you're on a quest?" Dru pulled at one of the healthy flowers, one of the few not choked by weeds, and she added it to her bouquet. She gave the bouquet to Tara, and crowed, "Because you need the Amulet. Am I right? Do I get another guess?"

Tara whirled to look around. This was the meadow where she'd met Spike when they were children. And the moon was shining.

"Dreams are like children. They wander if you don't take care." Dru wagged a finger sternly. "You must remember where you are, and what you are, and who decides what is really real."

"Amulet. You said there was an amulet." Tara struggled to focus. "Why is it important?"

"It's the part of you that you need." Dru sighed. "I'm tired of questions. Would you like to hear a story?"

Dru's answers hadn't made much sense, so Tara said a story would be nice, and hoped that it would be.

"This is a story the pixies told me. Once upon a time, The First was wicked. It was sent to bed without Its supper. So It made gingerbread out of dreams and magic, then waited for Willow to be a bad girl. It named the gingerbread boy Spike and gave him a liquorice heart, and named the gingerbread girl Willow and gave her a peppermint heart. Then It put them in the oven ready to bake."

Dru's face darkened with menace, fingers twisted into claws. She circled Tara, her eyes shining with glee. "So It could _eat_ them all up.

"Wait," Tara said, "Willow?"

Dru frowned. "You've ruined the story, now."

Tara assumed an attitude of penitence, pressing her lips tight.

After a punishing moment, Dru continued. "But It thought you were Willow, and snatched you up, and baked you along with Spike. And you made such pretty gingerbread dollies, so warm and tasty. The First smacked his lips and tried to take a bite, but you both jumped up and ran away. Now everyone chases after you, begging you to stop so they can take a bite."

Tara stared at her hands, and felt sick. Dru's story didn't make much sense, but it made enough.

"But that's not the best part." Drusilla twirled, stopping in front of Tara. "The First made the gingerbread wrong. It can only taste your dreams."

"Do you mean we're just dreaming all this?" Tara couldn't believe the answer was that simple.

"Of course, the answer isn't that simple. The First made the gingerbread from dreams and magic, after all." Dru peered at Tara from beneath her lids.

"Stop." Tara flung her hands up, and made a noise of exasperation. "You're playing with me now. You might fool Spike, and Angel, and … and most people. But you aren't half as crazy as you're making out to be."

Drusilla froze. And smiled. A real smile, shy and unaffected. "I like you, Tara MacClay. You can see the pixies, too." She ran a hand around Tara's head, playing with wisps of her hair. "We'd have such fun if we were sisters. That wouldn't be so bad would it? If we were sisters?"

"No, it wouldn't be so bad."

The sun was rising, painting the sky in pastel pinks and blue. Tara realized she was lying on the ground, her head in Drusilla's lap, and wondered how she got there. She looked up into Dru's face. "Will you tell me where the Vorpal Blade is?"

"Didn't I tell you? Follow your heart and not your head. That's the key to the Vorpal Blade."

"You did say that. But I don't understand."

"Can't you hear it? _Ka-thump, Ka-thump, Ka-thump."_ Dru kissed Tara's forehead.

"I don't understand." Tara felt like crying.

"Shhh," Dru said. "You will. But now, it's time to wake up. It's a glorious morning."

Tara opened her eyes.

TBC…


End file.
